The Two Islands
by Eaglefire
Summary: The heir to the Copper Isles crown joins a mage, a squire, and a tree's son on a quest to defeat Chaos and fulfill their destinies as a conflict brewing between mortal powers turns into a fateful war among the divine powers that be.
1. Prologue

The conclusion of the adventures begun in The Jaguar Goddess and Yama's Festival- I present **The Two Islands**, which happens about a year after JG and YF.

**Please note: anyone who read Time's Up in The Jaguar Goddess, Time's Up is the FIRST PART of this prologue. There's another bit after that.

* * *

_Prologue_

_March 12, 482 H.E._

Chanting…. War drums sounded, in the distance.

Dark shapes raced past her; before she could turn to see what they were, she was plunged into icy water. Panic rose up instinctively, but she pushed the feeling away. She had no reason to fear; she was ruler of this coldness, queen of the waves that tumbled and roared across her domain-

And yet she could not breathe; the water refused to part for her-

And the shadows were getting closer, ever closer- always a step ahead of her, but no matter which way she floundered in the silence, they eluded her gaze.

There were drums, pounding in her ears; a shout of defiance, answered by another-

Two armies.

Neither would back down.

But one of them must, one of them had to-

The storm of darkness closed in on her; she opened her mouth to gasp, but the black water choked her. There was nothing, nothing- Oblivion-

Struggling against the dark, she caught a glimpse of light and surged towards it, up to the surface-

Something grabbed her, yanked her back down into the murky water, but she turned on it, hands outstretched. A flash of blue light shot from her fingers, and she was free, free to swim upwards and-

Cyne Hetnim opened her eyes; a beam of moonlight streamed in through her open balcony doors to play across her bleary vision. She frowned, sitting up in a tangle of blankets. It was still chilly at night…. Too cold for an open window.

In fact, she knew she had closed it before she had fallen asleep.

Her brilliant blue-green eyes flickered sharply across her room; nothing was disturbed. Warily, she shifted, then swung her legs over the side of her bed and slid to the floor, waiting for the slightest flicker of motion to give an intruder away.

There were many who would like to kill the heir to the Kyprian throne.

Her cold fingers wrapped around the sea glass she wore on a pendant around her neck, she waited, ready to throw up a magical shield if there was need. Quietly, she crept towards the open door, watching as the curtains billowed in the night breeze; there was a dim light in the darkness that was a telltale harbinger of the day.

"Cyne Hetnim." The girl leapt into the air, alarmed, as a figure stepped out into her vision, out on the balcony. Magic shot from her hand, but it flew right by the man waiting for her. He chuckled. "Is that really any way for an heir to answer the patron god of her land?"

Cyne did not reply; her voice was caught in her throat as Kyprioth, God of the Copper Isles, pushed open the doors and let himself in. The girl gazed at the familiar figure he cut, his peppered beard eerily glowing in the dim light that gathered in the east.

"Beautiful morning," he commented, gesturing out to the skies. "North wind's a-blowing," he added as an afterthought, then chuckled. "As it never does." He sighed, shaking his head as he looked down, as his bare feet. His brightly-colored sarong shifted in the gentle zephyr. Then he looked up sharply, meeting Cyne's uncertain gaze. She flinched at its suddenness, but held the stare as the god's eyes shimmered, burning with divine intensity as he scrutinized her. She had not seen him in over a year. "Time's up," he said abruptly, then disappeared, as suddenly as he had come, leaving Cyne to stare out over the city, harbor, and night beyond.

She blinked, waiting silently as the realization set in; adrenaline coursed through her veins.

_Within a year's time… you shall be hearing from me or one of my illustrious siblings. _A soft sigh escaped her; she bit her lip, then looked up at the moon, gleaming benevolently down upon the islands. A year. A year of peace. A year since she vanquished Kypria, Panther of the Night.

Dawn was breaking.

"What now?" she whispered.

* * *

Queen Dovasary of the Copper Isles fidgeted restlessly at her desk. Her closest friend and spymaster, Aly Crow, stood by the door of the queen's study, waiting. At the sound of a quiet, triple knock, she peered through the peephole, then yanked the door opened and bowed to the girl waiting out in the passageway. Behind her stood a boy and a girl about her age, dressed in the uniform of bodyguards.

"Your Highness," the woman said formally before nodding to the two youths trailing behind her. One of them- the girl- had the same, fiery hair as Aly Crow. It gleamed in the morning light as she moved to her princess's side.

Princess Cyne Temaida Balitang Hetnim smiled and stepped inside quickly. Her delicate features gave her an air of fragility and smallness that contrasted with her clever, brilliant eyes. She was not short, but she was not tall, either; the redhead standing at her side was half a head taller, and her lanky, male guard towered over her.

"Aunt Dove, we have trouble," the young woman told the queen, her calm and easy air fading. Dove raised an eyebrow at her soft-spoken niece. When she had been Cyne's age, she had been even quieter, but she had grown out of it quickly; enemies of the Crown would see it as weakness.

"Indeed? And what sort of trouble have _you _been alerted of?" she asked wryly, eyes sliding to a paper on her desk. Cyne opened her mouth to reply, then stopped with a frown.

"You have trouble, too? Unrest? Heretics in the north?" She hesitated. "Or foreign threat?" The corners of Dove's lips turned downward; she exchanged a glance with Aly, and missed the one between Cyne and her two guards.

"Tortall… has requested our assistance." She tapped the first roll of parchment on her desk, decorated with the seal of the Tortallan monarchy. "An alliance, against Scanra."

"Even though Scanra is little threat to islands such as us, and the Yamani," Aly muttered. Cyne's eyes narrowed.

"It _is _true," she said cautiously, turning her gaze back to her aunt. "And Tortall has not needed aid against the north in the past." Dove rose, handing the paper to her heir, who quickly scanned it. "We respectfully request Your Delegation's presence and that of the Emperor's, as we have reason to believe Scanra has found a new ally," she read. Her brow furrowed. "Who? Did Galla decide they have less in common with the eastern lands than the north? Even so, Tortall has no need of Yamani and the Copper Isles- they have Tusaine and Maren and Carthak-"

"Their alliance goes even further than that," Dove replied with a frown. "If need be, Carthak could call in many debts owed by lands south of them." Cyne reread the end of the message, and the signature of Roald II of Conte, King of Tortall, beneath it.

"Delicate matters of security will also be discussed among envoys," she read, then looked up at her two companions, both of whom seemed puzzled but grim. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Aly said darkly. "That we cannot possibly bow out of this. Tortall calls the Kyprians and Yamanis to talk, and with such a cryptic statement dangling out before us…." She glowered. "I'm willing to wager my last gigit my da wrote this; I thought he had finally decided to retire." Cyne hid a smile; it was a well-kept secret of both countries that, for many years, their respective spymasters were father and daughter. "It's a bone we can't afford to ignore," she finished with a scowl. "Ambassadors, courtiers- all the pomp and ceremony will be required. Taybur and I will have to find all the right selections for the delegation- the clever and good-looking, all able to keep their mouths shut but charming enough to keep us a step ahead." She sighed heavily. "And then there's the matter of honor- we'll need them to be important, and someone will have to be very high-ranking, in order to avoid insulting anyone- we wouldn't want anyone thinking we sent a second string of folk-" Cyne turned back to Dove, who was smiling thoughtfully at her. The seventeen-year-old raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Dove watched her silently, still smiling. When Cyne opened her mouth to ask again, the queen raised a hand, her catlike, black eyes boring into her niece's bright blue-green stare.

"What do you think?" the queen asked. Confused, Cyne frowned, but it was Aly who answered.

"Be it far from me to dispute your wishes, my liege," she sighed, but when Cyne turned, the woman was grinning at her with a wicked, calculating gleam in her eye. An incredulous smile wormed its way onto her lips as the girl turned back to her aunt. She meet Dove's gaze silently, waiting for her explanation. She did not have to wait long.

"Cyne." Queen Dovasary's eyes twinkled as she paused, as though making sure she had her niece's full attention. Cyne's reply was a bland, innocent face, although now she was almost certain where this was going. "How would _you _like to visit Tortall?"

* * *

**AN: Reviews are appreciated. **


	2. Chapter 1: Fidgeting

_Disclaimer: Tortall is not my world, and most of these characters are not, either. I just enjoy torturing them and their offspring in whatever devious manner I can fashion. :P_

_Thanks to my reviewers- reviews are always very encouraging, but **especially** when I'm starting out a new story_**- SarahE7191**, **vicky**, **Alliekat1996**, **Dragonfly257**, **Shang Leopard**, **twilightm00n**, **Evilstrawberry**, **secret-scribbled-notebooks**. And thanks to my beta, **_KyrieofAccender_**_- only two days until break__. :D _  
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* * *

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_Chapter One_

_Fidgeting_

_March 14, 482 H.E. _

Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop walked down the drab corridors towards the practice courts; there was no need to impress the warriors of the realm with tapestries and relics. The windows were open to air out the halls; it was the warmest it had been in several cold, hard months, but the knight still felt a chill run down his spine as the wind caressed the back of his neck. He picked up his pace, trying to urge warm blood into his veins.

When he reached the practice courts, he smiled slightly at the group of soldiers, waiting by the closed door, disgruntled. Master Numair must have ordered them off, for their own safety. Alan smiled at a guardsman, who shook his head resignedly.

"I suppose we don't want to know what the likes of them mages get up to," the palace guard said to the knight. A small chuckle escaped Alan, but he said nothing as he tugged the door of the indoor practice court open; it would have been easier, as well as safer, for Numair to have his students do this _outside_, but secrecy was of the utmost importance; there could be no chance of _anyone_- even someone utterly loyal to Tortall- even the _king_- seeing what they did.

Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop, knight of the realm and son of the Lioness, and Master Numair Salmalin, black robe mage, were the guardians of this secret. Of _them_.

When he stepped inside, his abrupt greeting was a sudden flash of heat; the cold morning chill was burned away as hot air slammed into him, a hostile cloud that seared his skin. Almost as swiftly, a blast of icy wind ripped across him. The knight staggered back, eyes tearing as a black shield materialized around him. Coughing, Alan heard someone approach. When he opened his eyes, Numair was watching him reprovingly.

"Warn me next time you enter," he said darkly. "You could have been hurt-" A roar of sound drowned out his words; the knight turned to the youths standing in the center of the practice courts.

There were three of them, two boys and a girl.

The boy closest to them was standing off to the side, drinking from a water skein as he watched the other two cautiously. His strawberry blond hair, darkened from many months inside, whipped back and forth across his head in the abnormally fierce gusts of wind that soared past him. He stood, unperturbed, as he watched his fellow mages work; every once in awhile, he would raise a hand to avoid the rebounding and deflection of the spells; the stone floor itself shot up to protect him before settling back down.

The other boy and the girl were dueling; both had unsheathed blades in their hands, but they stood almost ten feet apart from each other, glaring into each other's eyes. The final wind died down as the pair just watched each other, eyes narrowed and fists clenched, until the knight on the side could not bare the tension in the silence.

"Who's winning?" Alan asked glibly; both mages remained motionless. A half-sigh, half-laugh left Numair's lips.

"They've been at it since breakfast," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "I had all three of them in there at first, but Han decided to bow out and watch the fun." Alan studied the girl, whose face was smoother, blanker, then her opponent's scrunched, focused countenance. He pursued his lips.

"The men are waiting outside," he mentioned. Numair frowned.

"Maybe I ought to call a halt," he muttered. Alan shook his head.

"They can go outside to spar. A copper on Queenscove?" the knight challenged, lips quirking. Numair looked down at the shorter, red-haired man in surprise.

"Gambling on my students?" he inquired, bemused.

"My squire versus your son," Alan retorted, a grin spreading across his face. "C'mon, Uncle, I can see you want to." The older man heaved a sigh.

"If Daine finds out-"

"Excellent," Alan finished, turning back to the two duelers, who _still _had not moved. In fact, the knight was almost certain neither of them had even batted an eyelid. He _did _see a faint smile on the girl's face; had she heard them?

It was more than likely; Deryne heard _everything. _

And, in her case, everything meant _everything._

Every whisper, every motion… every feeling, every thought. If she wanted to. If she focused.

Which, combined with her skill with a blade, made Alan have more faith in her abilities as a sixteen-year-old squire than he had in the abilities of most grown men.

But this did not seal the victory for the young woman; almost as often as not, _she _was the one hurled to the floor at the end of a hard fight against the opponent she now fought; Rikash Salmalin was not any ordinary mage.

Alan almost jumped when the two shifted at the same moment, almost as though it had been planned; it seemed Rikash was tired of waiting. Fire exploded from him, a wave of flame that reached the ceiling as it bore down on Deryne; but she was already moving. Her hands snaked out, blasting a path through the fire as it passed her. She was already running towards Rikash, sword out, eyes blazing determinedly.

"About time she pressed her advantage," Numair murmured thoughtfully as she attacked; his son had only been training with the sword for a year now. Rikash parried the block and instantly cut towards her side, but Deryne's sword was already there. They watched as Rikash's mouth formed a curse; he had let down his mental guard for a moment, and Deryne had snatched his intention from his mind. Face twisted with anger, he lunged again, but Deryne managed to block him and disengage, circling him.

"Maybe she's testing herself," Alan suggested. "Seeing how long she can stand Rikash's blasts-"

"Yes… I need to talk to him about that. We _know _he could overwhelm anyone within the Mortal Realms, maybe beyond that- he _should _be working on _refining _his power-"

"Maybe he's still sore about last time Deryne beat him?" the knight asked carefully. Numair groaned.

"She beat him because he _completely _lost his temper- like he is now," he added, gesturing to the furious exchange now unfolding; only feet away, Rikash sent small fireballs dancing after his adversary, but she blew them away and ripped them apart with the sharp little breezes that followed her command. "It's not a competition-" That provoked a laugh from the knight.

"Not a competition? Numair, the two of them are barely able to keep their hands off each other's _throats _in civilized company-"

"That's an exageration," the black robe protested feebly.

"You should start considering what measures you'd have to resort to if they ever _really _started dueling," Alan commented wryly. Numair snorted.

"It would be easier to evacuate all of Corus and leave them to it than to try to contain them," he retorted. He gestured again as sparks flew; they were back to sword fighting again. "This is _nothing_. You know that." Alan nodded in assent as Rikash backed away, avoiding Deryne's intent gaze. "Good boy," Numair muttered under his breath. "Think about it- don't let her press her advantage, and keep her out of your mind-"

"Easier said than done," Alan commented ruefully, rubbing his own head. He had tried it many times with varying degrees of success. Numair shook his head.

"Not for Ri; he _hates _it, when she does that. He hates _her_," he added quietly. "Even in something like this, he doesn't see it as an exercise for both of them to practice; it's a violation. When he feels her coming, he keeps her _out_. But when he slips up, like he just did-"

"They'll be others, far crueler, who could do the same if he doesn't master the mental block," Alan warned, and Numair sighed.

"I know," he said heavily as Deryne followed Rikash across the court, as he tried to stay out of sword's reach. "But only a very Gifted mage could do what Deryne can without even trying, and only then with _years _of training and preparation-"

"Whereas Deryne blinks, and she'll know every thought in the room," Alan finished grimly.

"And-" Numair hesitated. "I don't think a block would stop her, if she had to." Deryne's knight master frowned; it was something they had discussed before. The mage meant that he believed Deryne could defeat any mental defense, if she had enough power and will at her disposal. If she didn't care whether or not she broke the mind and will of the person she was fighting.

"But she wouldn't. Ever." Alan watched as another blast of flames rushed over Deryne; she staggered, but managed to protect herself with a shield spell. Still, the effort sent her to the ground. Rikash rushed forwards, blade out, a fierce smile on his face.

At the last moment, Deryne managed to knock the blow coming at her away as she rose; Numair shook his head, as Rikash's sword flew from his hands at the force.

"Loose grip," he sighed. "Ri, we _have _to work on that-" Deryne's sword whipped up towards the youth, but he leapt back and waved a hand at the sword; the squire yelped as her blade turned red hot. It clattered as it fell from her hands.

"Cheater," Alan heard her snap from his spot out of harm's way, and smiled.

"That _does _seem unfair," he mentioned casually, looking at Numair, who had made the extensive list of what the pair was _not _allowed to do in this duels; it grew longer by the day. Numair shrugged.

"She's more than able to cool it herself- but I think she doesn't mind," he continued with a smile, nodding at Deryne. She hadn't wasted a moment; before her sword had hit the ground, her fist connected with Rikash's stomach. He grabbed her before she could back away and threw her to the ground.

"Bad technique," Alan commented, grinning as Numair raised an eyebrow at the knight. "If he's gonna toss the lady, he might as well do it right."

"I'll let _you _tell him that." Numair winced as Deryne's leg swung around. Rikash jumped over it the first time, but Deryne quickly reversed her momentum the other way before he could touch the ground again, knocking his feet out from underneath him. "And while you're at it, tell him to jump backwards and _away _from that reverse?"

"He's doing better than you would," the knight retorted cheekily.

"This is true."

Deryne was up again; pinning Rikash's arms behind him, her knee on his back, she shook him.

"Do you yield?" she snapped, shaking a piece of dark hair out of her face. Rikash glowered.

"Oh damn," Alan muttered under his breath as he caught the youth's livid expression. "Uncle Numair, do you want to go in there and call-"

Rikash flexed; a force that rippled the air shot from him, slamming into Deryne before she could block it. She went flying across the practice courts, face twisted in pain. Numair growled a curse under his breath.

"I _told _him he couldn't do that," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his face resolved. "No spontaneous combustion- we have only so little air in this palace, most of it busy holding up the walls-" He cleared his throat, preparing to interfere. "All right-" Then Rikash jumped to the side to avoid a sharp blast from Deryne, then was knocked down by a second attack, much harder than her usual offensives, that had been aimed at his other side. They locked eyes from across the courts.

Then a wall of earth erupted between them, firmly separating the opposing sides. Numair breathed a sigh of relief and shot a grateful look at Han, who straightened, put down the water, and looked first at Deryne, who was breathing heavily, then at Rikash, who was glaring at the earthen barrier, as though calculating how hard he would have to attack to break it.

"I think there are men outside who would like to use the courts now," Han announced in his mild voice. His wall between his two friends glittered with brown-and-green magic, subtly warning them that it would take more effort to break _this _than the average pile of dirt. "And you can't completely exhaust yourselves over this; Deryne, I think Sir Alan is waiting to borrow you." The young man glanced over at the red-haired knight, who smiled. "And I don't know about you, Ri, but I'm starving." Slowly, Rikash deflated, then nodded, although his scowl had not left his face yet.

"Thank the Gods for Han," Numair breathed in Alan's ear; the other man nodded. The young man- older than the other two by a few years- always seemed to sense when Rikash and Deryne risked crossing the border of friendly practice to hostility. He even had the good sense to lead Rikash through the side exit, only dropping his shield in front of Deryne when he stepped outside and the door shut behind the two boys.

Deryne's narrowed, blue-gray eyes fixed on the door. She only glanced away when Numair heaved a great sigh.

"Really, Deryne; you _know _you're the one with the level head." The girl's lips quirked, possibly in amusement, but she smoothed her face over quickly.

"All the more reason for _him _to get in the practice," she replied, a slight drawl entering her voice as she assumed an ironic expression. "Wouldn't want him getting his head chopped off because he can't see straight, he's so mad."

"Well, the taunting's off-limits, for now, so _that _won't happen again," Numair pointed out. Deryne raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

"I guess you'll just have to settle that bet some other time," she said, grinning at Alan, who chuckled. Numair ignored both of them; he was still thinking about his son's disregard for the rules set down for them.

"We should have you practice sparring on Gates, so that he can't do that to you again." Any easiness in the squire's demeanour vanquished instantly; her jaw set.

"I'll take what he decides he needs to toss out to save his pride," she said, voice cold. "We don't need any magically enforced limits." Numair nodded; he had been expecting an objection. Alan hesitated, but then spoke; he _was _her knight master, after all.

"Deryne, it would help both of you from using your magics- improve your skills _without _enhancements-" Deryne's eyes flashed.

"You _know _he would refuse!" She hefted her sword, then sheathed it in one sharp motion. "_Refuse _on the grounds that he was big enough of an idiot to nearly _die _on a Gate."

"Deryne-"

"And he's too proud to face whatever his failings have been in the past!" she finished savagely, lifting her chin up to look at her two teachers. Numair watched her with a frown.

"Deryne." She fidgeted for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

"All right," she muttered. "If he can't be mature enough-"

"Deryne." She inhaled slowly, eyeing the stone floor.

"I'll work on a Gate, if he agrees," she conceded reluctantly. A muscle in her jaw twitched, and her eyes narrowed, but Numair breathed a sigh of relief to himself.

She could think whatever she wanted about Rikash, so long as she kept her thoughts to herself.

But _really. _It had been a _year_, more than a year. Couldn't they just be friends again? Numair still remembered their childhood antics, the time when he had had to pull them out of a pond magically because they had swam out too far, and Deryne had been too little to swim back.

Ri probably could have gotten back by himself, and saved himself from the taunts of the other boys who mocked him because his da had had to come and fetch him.

But he had decided to stay out there and keep her afloat instead.

Numair doubted his son would do that now. Even more so, he doubted Deryne would let him.

* * *

Deryne sparred with her knight master for the rest of the afternoon on the outdoor courts, determined to keep his intentions out of her head, but it was hard. It was easy to block out the wind whispers- the _gudruna_- that pushed another's thoughts into her mind, but their urges and intent- often simple enough for anyone to read without magic- were more difficult to suppress. Even harder to avoid was the attuned sense Deryne had that connected her to movement; after many years of training, she could feel a blow coming towards her before it hit; she could feel a blade slicing through the air towards her, could sense someone slipping into a room, knew when a bird flew overhead.

Still, for the sake of sparring, she pushed it as far away as she could except in duels with Rikash; she needed all her wits about her then, because she could never tell when he would play by the rules and when he would decide he was above them.

After about an hour, she noticed a figure standing out in the cold, standing against the fence, watching. It was a little cold in the late afternoon, to be standing out watching a knight and a squire-

When they were finished, Deryne bowed to Sir Alan and turned to see who it was. When she saw, she smiled and walked over to the woman.

"Hello, Irnai," she greeted the seer, who nodded once and then gaped up into the skies.

"The Salmalin boy tries," she murmured in her singsong voice. Deryne flinched, then looked back at the woman. She was garbed in dark colors that contrasted with her pale skin.

"Is that so?" the squire asked, meaning to be humorous; her question sounded harsh and bitter. She grimaced. "I know he does."

"But you can't make it easier for him?" Deryne shook her head, jaw set. She had decided that a long time ago.

"No." She waited another moment. "He… since Pirate's Swoop-"

"Days and months and years," Irnai said dreamily. "Flame and wind and water mixed." Deryne pursed her lips.

"That's what happened," she agreed lamely. "Me and Ri and Cyne-"

"Water fled, flame frightened-" Deryne shook her head; Rikash had been _anything _but frightened that day. "And that is because he wanted to hide the fear, that you fought." Irnai's wide eyes turned onto Deryne, who felt the urge to fidget for the second time that day. "His sin is pride- You can understand that, Deryne." The girl frowned, then looked back at the palace, where her knight master was headed. She was getting cold.

"No, I can't," she said doggedly.

"You aren't proud?" A small smile flickered across her face.

"Of course I am… but I can admit to weakness; Ri _can't_." She scowled. "And I know he's sorry, for everything- the Swoop _and_… last year." She spat out the last two words, then forced herself on, refusing to dwell on those events. "Walk back to the palace with me? I need to eat." Irnai bowed her head in acqueisance, and Deryne climbed over the fence to walk beside the woman.

"How are your lessons?" the seer queried. Deryne shrugged.

"Well enough; excellent, except for-" She made a face.

"You should brace yourself; muster your patience," Irnai told her, a smile tugging on her lips. They entered the palace; the woman turned down another corridor, one that led away from the dining hall. She waved absently over her shoulder at Deryne. "Old friends and foes are returning. You will need to save your strength for other things." She paused when Deryne snorted.

"Tell me about it," she snapped. "I know all this! Malvyn's on the lose, has been for a _year_, because of my dear _friend! _I'm pretty sure the sorceror possessing him is the original _old foe_, anyway! Got anything I don't know?" She wasn't sure what had made her lash out at the seer; the woman was a friend, even if she had once predicted Deryne's death.

When Irnai looked over her shoulder, light played across her profile, her silhouette perfectly still as she smiled gently at the girl.

"I wasn't speaking of Roger of Conte," she said softly, before she left the squire staring after her, wanting to chase after the woman and fearing what she would hear, heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

Deryne's head was buzzing with the shouts and furious movement of the dining hall; many of the squires dined with the pages, which seemed to triple the chaos in her head. She saw a group of her friends and waved, relieved to see neither Han nor Rikash; often, they would dine with the squires. Apparently Han had decided she and Rikash needed a little more space than usual; they were probably in the library, Rikash ranting about her. Something stupid, like her _gudruna_, or her lack of focus- nothing that would make any sense-

"Deryne!" The girl looked up at Aloin of Jesslaw, who was grinning at her, and smiled back. "Guess what?"

"I have no idea," she answered, stealing a look at her cousin, Cadel of Broakhale, son of the Lady Knight Keladry. He was a first year knight now, but ate with his younger friends anyway. He jerked a head at the boy seated next to him, Mequen of Tayt, from Carthak.

"Meq's sister is coming!" Aloin announced. "From the Isles! Again!" His face glowed with excitement.

"Sit down, Strawhead," Evrain of Ghenset ordered, throwing the smaller squire back into his seat, but Aloin was not to be discouraged. "She's coming with the delegation!" Deryne frowned, then glanced at Meq.

"What delegation?" she asked, feeling vaguely hurt. Why hadn't Cyne written to her and told her? After all, Cyne had sent word to her when she had been named heir to the Kyprian throne, even before she had written to her own brother. Mequen shrugged.

"She didn't tell me, either," he volunteered, seeing the look on Deryne's face. "We heard through Leo." He jerked his head towards the other end of the table, where the fifteen-year-old heir to the Tortallan throne, Leoraed of Conte, sat. He glanced over a nearby page, then turned his back on the rest of the table and towards the other squires. Deryne noticed the curious and envious looks the pages sent their way with amusement; they were the squires, the smart and strong and fast- she could easily tell the difference between the plumper, developing bodies of the pages, and the lean, muscular builds of the squires. There was an almost worshipful look in most of their eyes… except when they looked at her; she confused them.

"All right." Evrain clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "What news does the royal imp have for us?" Ignoring the jab, the prince leaned over the table on his elbows, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.

"You know how our spies have been gathering evidence that Scanra's preparing for war?" Deryne nodded with everyone else; the rumors had been growing since the passages into the north had been cleared. "Well, Da wants a talk among Tortall's allies." Deryne raised an eyebrow, but Mequen spoke before she did.

"But why the Copper Isles? What interest do they have in our mainland wars?" Leo looked around them, then up at the training master haMinch, who was shooting disapproving glares at his former charges; certainly, it was an honor rarely paid to the page training, for such a large return of former pages, even including a knight, to bring back their experience to the current pupils.… but Deryne suspected haMinch would have preferred _any _group of pages over theirs….

There was the prince, of course, but _this _prince had been largely responsible for much of the gray hair haMinch had grown; Deryne and her friends used to joke that Leo would give _her _gray hairs during their page years. Besides, haMinch had viewed Leo with cautious respect since the boy had chosen Deryne, the girl, as his sponsor. Aside from the girl, there were a handful of progressives' sons, such as Cadel and Aloin, and a foreigner, Mequen. Then there was the impudent Evrain of Ghenset, who could do no right. There had been only two redeeming members of their group, Laun of Isanife and….

Well, it didn't really matter; neither of them were there. One of them would never come back. Deryne closed her eyes, scrunching them as tightly as she could before opening them again.

"Deryne, you all right?" Leo asked, dark eyes on her. Deryne ran her hand through her hair, refusing to fidget under the royal imp's gaze. _Again. _She smiled wearily.

"Just tired," she murmured. "I'll catch up later, all right?" Without waiting for them to reply, she stood and turned away, stride long and quick, but not swift enough to avoid hearing Aloin's observation.

"She didn't eat."

She barely managed to get through the doors of the dining hall; she could feel tears in her eyes. She touched the cold stone wall of the corridor, drawing as much strength as she could from the solid, emotionless barrier. _Gudruna _pulled at the edges of her mind; she shut out the laughter from the mess hall, then rested both hands on the wall, eyes closed as she fought to control herself. As long as no one passed by, as long as she didn't have to speak, she would be fine. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't beat her fists against the hardest thing she could find- as long as she could have some quiet.

She would have to settle for the silence, because there would be no more unspoken compassion, gentle understanding. Not now.

It was times like these, when the day had been hard, and she had not expected it, that she missed him the most.

_It gets easier, _she told herself coldly, which was true. These moments were far and few in between now. Not like right after he-

She wrestled the thought, the memory, into darkness. Then she stopped thinking.

Just the smooth stone beneath her fingers. Just slow, steady breaths. One, two….

* * *

**AN: This chapter was basically to show where how everybody's doing in good old Tortall... same old, same old... from Ri to Leo. :D**

**And to show how Deryne's doing... fidgeting uncomfortably, for the most part.... :( this will change...**

**And since it's "the happiest season of all" and time of gift-giving and all, I can expect lots of reviews to make me happy... right? :D If you could review and tell me what you think, I would be much obliged.  
**


	3. Chapter 2: Sleep

Here is my holiday gift. Merry Christmas, and thanks to all reviewers! Gotta go! :D

* * *

_Chapter Two_

_Sleep_

_March 15, 482 H.E. _

Deryne woke to a quiet rap on her door; she _had _planned to sleep in. Scowling, the squire rose, still wearing her breeches from the day before; she often fell asleep on her bed listening to the soft breezes that carried news to her ears.

Grabbing at a robe, she tugged it on as she crossed the room to yank open the door, freezing when she saw who had knocked.

Rikash stood in the door, looking down at the floor. When he raised his amber eyes to her face, Deryne raised an eyebrow.

"Hello," he muttered before ducking his head again.

"Hi," she answered after a moment. "Any particular reason for this?" He grimaced.

"Han sent me to beg on bended knee," he mumbled. Deryne's eyebrows rose further still.

"For what?" Rikash sighed.

"Getting too wrapped up in the duel." The youth looked her in the eye again, and Deryne could tell he was sorry. Angry, but not at her. As usual. Without another word, she backed up, allowing him in before she shut the door behind them.

"Ri, you've _got _to sort this out." He grimaced.

"Han's been dragging me off for meditation, but I'm not the type to sit and think about nothing for hours on end," he said ruefully, smiling at her; he stopped when she did not return it. "I just-" His fists tightened; she could tell by his wrinkled brow that he thought about each word before he spoke. "-need… an outlet. One that I only get when we're-" He trailed off listlessly, raising a hand to his head. When she saw he had no more to say, Deryne rubbed her eyes wearily.

"Ri, since last year, when we came to this agreement that we would _try _to get along again-" She took a deep breath, then let it out, Rikash watching her as if _she _was the one likely to explode into flame. "-we'll be fine for a few months, and something stupid will happen, and we're archenemies for another few months-"

"Not archenemies," Rikash muttered resently. Deryne rolled her eyes.

"Close enough," she retorted resignedly. "Ri, I can't keep up."

"I can't, either." Deryne snorted at his reply.

"_You're _the one causing the problems." Rikash stiffened, then recomposed himself.

"Probably." Deryne groaned softly, plopping down on her bed. She _really _wanted to go back to bed, to close her eyes and forget all of this….

"It _needs _to stop. Now." She hoped she sounded adamant. Rikash hesitated. "Ri, how would you feel if _I _came to you, begging for forgiveness and swearing to be more humble, then up and _tried _to hurt you-" Rikash winced.

"I shouldn't have used the combustion spell," he admitted, but he gritted his teeth as he said it; he was nearing his breaking point. Deryne fell silent, gazing up into the rafters, then allowed her head to sink in a single, deep nod.

"_Right. _And I don't think I can let you do this to me," she said darkly, then she stood and strode over to the door, which she opened brusquely with a quick twist of her wrist. "Come back when you _know _it won't happen again." She raised her eyes to meet Rikash's gaze and held it, refusing to waver. "Just remember," she said quietly. "To ask yourself _who _you're angry with, when you face me on the courts?" _When you fight as though the battle is to the death. _But she would never say that.

Rikash was quiet for a very long moment; Deryne began to fear he would not leave. Finally, he ducked his head, breaking eye contact to stride out of the room; Deryne closed her eyes as he swept past her, the breeze caressing her face as he disappeared.

Then, without opening them, she shut the door and locked it behind him.

She would have to tell Numair there would be no more duels; not until she returned from whatever campaign she and her knight master were sent on. Not until she regained the courage- or foolishness- to dare to try again.

* * *

_March 28, 482 H.E._

Deryne paced her chambers impatiently, snapping her fingers anxiously.

_Dashing about in circles won't make the Kyprian ship go faster, _a snide voice rang in her ears. She glared at the kestrel she had named Duskwing resting on his perch; she was accustomed to his impudence. Or, rather, the Chamber's impudence; several years ago, the Chamber of Ordeal, the final test for squires seeking their shield, saw fit to possess her kestrel in order to speak with her. Advise her. Annoy her.

"My Ordeal is going to be weird," she muttered, shaking her head. "Since I know you and everything." The kestrel shook out his wings.

_It will be no different than if you had never known me, _it told her coldly. _You will not recognize me in there; I am multitude- in many places at once. And the part of me interred within the Chamber is very different from the rest of me. _Deryne shrugged.

"I'd rather not think too hard about that, if you don't mind," she said. "I've got enough headaches as it is."

_You should go to bed, _the Chamber told her. Deryne sighed.

"I can't- I just can't wait to see her- what if they come in late-? I want to be there with Meq when they arrive-"

_They will wait in the harbor of Port Caynn until dawn, then proceed down the river. It would unsafe to go any further at night. _The squire scowled; that did not make her any less awake. _Close your eyes; you will be surprised, I think. _A low, burbling sound escaped the bird. _If you insist on remaining awake, we will have to discuss this absurd conflict you stubbornly encourage with the Salmalin boy. _Deryne glowered; there was a twinge of smugness in his voice.

"I'm going," she muttered, yanking the blankets on her bed to the side so she could crawl underneath them. "Happy?"

* * *

Cyne stood on the dock of the ship, staring down into the dark water; at sea, the moonlight seemed to pierce the water like a sunbeam in a storm, unlikely and lovely.

"I went to Tortall once before," she said to the youth standing next to her. He was gazing up in the sky, eyes thoughtful.

"You never told me that," he said. "Any reason?" Cyne shrugged, feeling her insides cringe; without even trying, Damek always managed to ask the right- or wrong- question.

"It never came up." That was true; she would have steered any conversation away from the whole tradgic comedy of errors. In such a short span of time, she had been kidnapped, attacked by Stormwings, and performed a spell that had changed her entire life, her feelings about her powers and her outlook on those around her.

But, despite all of that, she was excited; somewhere, deep down inside her, an old ache eased, and a sense that seemed to draw her towards Tortall grew with every wind that brought their ship nearer to Port Caynn.

A wave of exhaustion snuck up on her, taking her unawares; she smiled wearily at Damek and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to sleep," she whispered. She let herself lean on him for a moment and then began to pull back, but not before he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. She stiffened; it was a rare moment, when he dared to kiss her. Fleetingly, she remembered the last time his lips had been on hers, the seductive sense of falling, plunging into deep, dark water, before he had jerked away with a quiet apology. He did not give her a chance to look up at him; he stepped away to lean up against the ship's edge.

"Good night," he whispered. Cyne watched him quietly for moment, then turned her back, cursing her magic more fervently than she had in months.

* * *

Deryne was flying; she smiled, letting her gaze drift across the coast as a chilly breeze wrapped around her. She had done this many a time; there were the cliffs, the white cliffs she had seen many times in her dreams.

In her lessons with Numair, she had learned to levitate, even move around in the air, but she could not soar like this….

There was an island, a small speck in the blue ocean. Deryne could not see it, but the _gudruna _that swept around her whispered it was there. She flew further north, straining her eyes. Finally, she gave up and landed gently down in the light snowfall on the cliffs. Calling up her magic, she breathed a coaxing summoning to the visions on the wind.

Then, suddenly, she was there; she jolted as she was thrust forwards, into a garden she did not recognize. Shakingly, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ears and looked around; there was a pond, a shining pool of water-

It was summer there; flowers bloomed and the lush grass practically glowed in the light. A low rumbling grew in her ears, but the girl ignored it as she approached the water, muscles trembling as she grew more and more certain of what it was-

It was not water at all, or, rather, it was not just water; underneath the shining surface was a Vent. A Vent through which Shadow immortals from Chaos could escape into the mortal realms. Deryne felt a chill rush through her; she bit her lip, hard. How could Gainel, God of Dreams, put her through this in her sleep?

It did not matter; she had to close it, just like she had sealed those in the Black City and in the Black Caverns. Taking a deep breath, she raised a hand above the water as blue light gathered in her palm. A Seal was long and complicated, but she would have to bestow a powerful one; this Vent was huge.

But as she began to write the runes in the air, they disappeared.

Frowning, Deryne began again, slower this time, and again, they faded into nothingness.

"You think you can stop me, just like that?" a woman's voice snarled; Deryne tried to turn and look, but claws grabbed her, closed down on her neck, and threw her down, into the water.

There were faces, in the dark water; she thought she saw Han before a horrified Cyne turned to look at her, her glowing blue-green eyes wide. Then the squire slammed into the Vent, lurking on the bottom of the pond; pain wracked through her body, convulsions twisting her insides. When she opened her mouth to scream, water poured in, gagging her.

_I want to wake now, _she cried soundlessly, and then the pond and the garden and the Vent were gone. Coughing up the water in her lungs, Deryne looked around her.

She was in the middle of a battle, a war with no sound. Swords flashed, blood stained the desolate plain a dark red, drowning the little grass that survived the stampede. Around her, men fought and died, mouths open in silent screams of despair and yells of triumph. An arrow whizzed by her; Deryne stared at the space in bewilderment; why hadn't she sensed it? She struggled to find a single _gudruna_, but there were none; she was deaf to them.

"Deryne!" Relief flooded through her at the sound of the cry, but as she turned, she saw an enormous Shadow, boring down on her, fangs glinting in the utter darkness of its ghostly body. Then Rikash was at her side, his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes locked; his amber eyes burned wildly. "Wake up!" he screamed at her. She stared at him, confused; she was dreaming? She had forgotten; everything seemed so real, except for the silence- The Shadow snarled, and the sound sent a jolt of forboding through her.

"I can't," she tried to say, but found she could not speak. Rikash shook her.

"Get up!" Wordlessly, she lifted her hands in helpless appeal. He swore, and his magic licked out, burning Deryne's skin with white hot light as the Shadow fell upon them.

She cried out, falling to her knees-

And she was awake, her kestrel crying out in alarm.

"Chamber?" she gasped, shaking, but there was no answer; Duskwing was in his right mind for the time being. She rolled out of bed, ignoring the chill that seeped thorugh her as her feet touched the stone; it eased the heat that tore at her shoulders-

Her shoulders. Deryne pulled up the sleeves of her nightgown; she winced as they chafed at her skin, finally revealing a red, blistered burn on both her arms, where Rikash had grabbed her in the dream. She stared down at the blisters, mouth open in shock.

"It happened," she breathed. "It _actually_-" And if _she _could not escape the dream without help-

Deryne yanked off her thin gown, disregarding the pain that seared through her skin, and reached for her breeches and shirt.

* * *

As Deryne disappeared, Rikash raised a hand, still glowing with his magic, up to the monster; it pulled away, shrieking, as flames consumed it. The youth spun around, trying to understand the battle before him; who was fighting who?

Which side was he on? A man raced past him, and Rikash's eyes widened; he had black eyes, completely black, and his pale, almost white, face was distorted, as though he wore a makeshift mask. Rikash shrank away as the man's soldiers followed him, bellowing loudly, as they clashed with another group of troops; they moved almost too fast for Rikash to watch, swords whipped back and forth with impossible speed- one collapsed, clutching his stomach. Then another fell, a hand at his neck, trying to stem the blood spurting from it.

A woman with black hair and white eyes grabbed one of the pale men and slashed at him with her blade; when that failed, she tackled him and raked her teeth across his neck. Chills seeped through Rikash as the woman leapt up and caught sight of him.

She smiled, her iris-less eyes blinking as she stepped towards him. The youth backed away, alarmed, but she approached, undaunted, to sweep into a low bow.

"Sire," she murmured, her dark skin glowing in the sun. "We told you death would come if you did not do as we asked." Rikash shook his head numbly as she approached, raising her sword.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he said heatedly as she advanced. Sweat formed on his brow; he had to wake up now-

"Now you lie." The blade glinted in the light, her teeth gleamed. "And I will give all liars their just punishment: death." Rikash stumbled, searching for anything to protect himself- sword or staff would do-

Then a familiar magic descended upon his mind, blasting through his mental defenses to seize the dream he found himself trapped within. In moments, it wrapped around his mind and thrust him out of the dream, away from the battlefield, and back into his own world.

_Ri! _His eyes snapped open; Deryne's face was in his, her fists clenching his shirt as she shook him violently. He started with alarm, then shrank back with horror. He could _sense _her mind in his; she had _shoved _her own thoughts into his-

"Get out," he growled lowly, forcing up his barriers, hating the knowledge he now had; mental defense or none, she would always be able to enter his mind. And now she knew what had happened in his dream. Her eyes- hard as the steel that had been ready to end his life- narrowed; she still gripped his shirt.

"I did it to save you," she said sharply. "Just like you had to burn _me _to save me." Rikash swallowed back a hateful remark; had he _actually _hurt her? She released him, easing herself off of his bed. "I'll have to go see my da, and there are going to be some odd questions about how I managed to burn my arms like that."

"I'd rather have the burns," he retorted, trying to stifle the rage in his voice; he had told her _never _to touch his mind again. Deryne's smile was cold.

"It was necessary. I wasn't prying into any of your deep, dark secrets- I was saving your life, if what I saw is right." A low sigh escaped him, and he made himself voice his thoughts, despite his reluctance.

"I know. You did what you had to." Deryne's eyes widened with surprise at his admission, but she glowered again.

"I'll leave you, then-" He cleared his throat as she began to turn away, catching her attention once more.

"What was that?" he asked hoarsely. Deryne hesitated.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" she asked shortly. "After breakfast, we'll talk to your father, and he'll sort it out. In the meantime, stay out of my head. You dragged me into that dream, and I don't want any part of it." Rikash's eyes narrowed as she escaped, slipping out into the hall. He had had similar dreams before, but he had never had the power to touch another person's mind.

That hadn't been him, and she knew it.

* * *

Cyne sat up, heart pounding. She jumped when she heard another voice.

"Nightmare?" The girl turned to her red-haired friend, Merle Crow, who had a hand on her shoulder, and nodded shakily. "I shook you awake," she explained. "What was it this time?" Cyne frowned, her eyes narrowing.

"A battle," she said softly. "And drowning." She looked up at her friend, who looked vaguely interested, but tired, too. "We were all drowning. All of us." She swallowed heavily. "Everything. In darkness."

* * *


	4. Chapter 3: Arrival

AN: Thanks to my reviewers- **Alliekat1996**, **dares to dream**, **Shang Leopard**, **SarahE7191**, **Cymru na Alethaira**, **Dragonfly275**, **secret-scribbled-notebooks**, **Evilstrawberry_, _**and my beta, **KyrieofAccender**. Hopefully, the next chapter will be more quickly written; I've already got a lot of it, so I may have it up next week, even though I have exams coming up.

* * *

_Chapter Three_

_Arrival_

"Cadel!" Deryne laughed breathlessly as her cousin, Cadel of Broakhale, parried her blows with a twist of the wrist and withdrew, his face perfectly blank as he watched her blade for the faintest giveaway. Of all her friends- indeed, anyone she sparred with- Cadel was the only one fast enough to give her a _real _challenge. He never thought; he just _attacked_. In the past few months, she had given up trying to use her _gudruna _to help her; his thoughts were closed to her, and the wind could give her little warning before his blows reached her.

She was grateful for the break from her unfair advantage; the only person besides Cadel- and possibly Rikash, when he didn't lose his temper- who could _completely _block her out was gone, but Cadel was almost as good as _he _had been.

Now that they stood apart, she could feel his body shift in the air as they slowly circled each other, searching for openings.

Then his sword was in her face; Deryne ducked as it swept over her head, then yanked her blade up against his. The resounding _clang _echoed through her ears, pounded through her mind, as she silenced all thought, listening hard to the minuscule _gudruna _that picked up his movements. They broke apart and Cadel feinted, taking a step back before he lunged back towards her. Deryne parried the attack and slashed back towards her cousin; he was already jumping out of the way, his blade coming back to meet hers; Deryne barely got her sword up in time as their swords locked. She pressed down, sweat dripping off her forehead, trying to force Cadel to disengage. With a grunt of effort, Cadel lifted his blade, sending Deryne's arm flying backwards. His blade zipped back towards her neck, but Deryne stepped back and parried the blow. But Cadel was not finished; as she tried to back away and recover, he drove his sword against hers; the force shoved Deryne's blade in close, her arms folded against her body as he drew up against her. The girl winced as her arm bent back, her sword slipped from her grip.

There was one option left.

"Sorry, Cadel," she muttered, then lifted her knee up sharply, knocking him away from her. He yelped, then swore as he retreated. Deryne took advantage of the time to snatch up her sword. "I _did _apologize," she announced, swinging her blade. "And any attacker isn't going to play nice-"

She lunged one way, then another; the knight parried both hits, then pursued her with a complicated set of feints, cuts, and blows.

"Don't hold back on my account," he retorted as they came body to body again; this time, Cadel hooked his foot around Deryne's; she fell heavily with a yelp. Before she could recover, Cadel's blade snaked in to touch the base of her chin. She sighed.

"I yield," she declared, wiping the sweat from her brow as Cadel drew back. With a smile, she took his offered hand and he hauled her to his feet. He patted her on the back with a breathless laugh.

"Well fought, cousin," he told her. A small laugh escaped her; she bowed elegantly.

"My thanks, valiant knight," she replied with a gleam in her eyes. "You're good for me; it isn't often I can be trounced." Cadel grinned, his hazel eyes proud.

"You can always count on me," he told her. "We can't have you getting too cocky."

* * *

Numair hoped Deryne and Cadel had not noticed his presence at their duel; he suspected his constant scrutiny discomforted Deryne, but her magic fascinated him. It was elusive and powerful, frighteningly so. Rikash was _power_, endowed with an endless supply of magic that could destroy anything in his way, but _Deryne_… she was altogether much more subtle… and that much scarier. Make the right Gate, and Rikash was finished; he was predictable, hot-headed… which left Numair worrying much more about Deryne of Queenscove, who could read minds and summon gales as easily as breathing. She was also turning into a dangerous swordswoman. He chuckled dryly to himself; it was a good thing she was on _his _side….

"Queenscove is weak," a cold, calculating voice to his right announced. Numair looked around, startled out of his reverie; the training master, Padraig haMinch, stood watching as the two fighters ended their match. "She possesses a unique and strong Gift, doesn't she?"

_Not a Gift, _Numair corrected silently as he nodded. _Her magic is far too powerful- too different- to be the Gift. _HaMinch turned his large, thoughtful eyes back to the young woman as she spoke with her cousin.

"Not so confident when she faces someone who fights _impulsively_, is she?" he asked. "Without thought." Numair's palms sweated; the conservative was hitting a little too close to the truth for the black robe mage's comfort. "The way she moves into a counterattack _before _her opponent moves his blade… it leaves one to make intriguing conclusions." Damn. He _did _know. Numair stared out over the practice courts; of course haMinch had picked up on it. The man was clever, and he _had _taught Deryne for four years, however grudgingly.

"A natural ability," the mage defended; asking Deryne to stop hearing _gudruna _was like telling her not to breathe. Eventually, the whispers on the wind would find their way into her mind, whether or not she wanted them.

"I see." The training master was silent for a moment. "Tell me; is there _any _way to deprive her of this… _natural _ability?" Yes; there were spells. When she had been younger, Numair had put some on her to preserve her sanity. Then her magic had broken free… rebelled against every attempt to rebind it. Numair had been left with no choice but to train her to control it herself. "If so," the man said coolly, watching as the pair of youths laughed. "Then her magic is a crutch; if she is ever without it, this weakness could kill her." Numair nodded silently; he disliked the conservative, but the man had a point.

He should be grateful for the warning.

* * *

"Deryne!" The two youths turned around to see Mequen pass the training courts in an uncharacteristically flustered dash. A wide grin crossed the girl's face as she realized why he ran.

"They're here!" she exclaimed. "At the river-" Sheathing her blade, she broke into a run for the stables, only just remembering to wave farewell to Cadel before she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She was arguably the fastest squire in the kingdom, and managed to catch up with Mequen just as they entered through the stables by a side entrance.

Deryne had thought the greeting party that left the palace to meet the Kyprian delegation at the river would be small; to the contrary, chaos reigned in the relatively small and cramped space. The doors were flung outwards, allowing sunlight and a faint, cool breeze through the mess of nobles, stable hands, and mounts. Deryne slipped past Numair, who was eyeing his horse apprehensively, and Rikash, already mounted, watching his father with mixed amusement and chagrin.

With the ease of a practiced rider, she saddled her horse, Gale; the speckled gray mare had been her family's birthday gift for Deryne last August. Zephyr, the strong but unreliable stallion who had served her since her page years, had been given to her younger cousin, Vanora, Cadel's little sister. Deryne's father, the Chief Palace Healer Sir Nealean of Queenscove had deemed the black, stubborn horse a menace to a squire who was charged with a duty to rid Tortall of nests of demonic immortals born in Chaos.

"You're a hero of the realm," he had said flatly, to both her embarrassment and delight. "You need a brave, sturdy mount." Deryne agreed with him; although she had not tested Gale in a fight yet, the mare was bold and patient, unlike her finicky predecessor. Deryne stroke Gale's mane affectionately before pulling herself up into the saddle and urging Gale towards the front of the gathering group. Numair had secured a place for his three students at the front of the delegation with him; Cyne would actually be able to see them.

The black robe mage's towering body was clearly visible from atop a horse; Deryne slipped demurely through the crowd to him. As she neared and distinguished the forms of Rikash and Han, she wondered what she should say, if anything, to them. If she spoke to Han, she would inevitable talk with Rikash, too-

Her worries were for naught. Even before she approached, a voice called for the delegation to ride out. Acute relief washing over her, Deryne let Gale fall in line behind Han and watched the back of Rikash's blond head as his hair gleamed in the sunlight.

* * *

Four youths dressed in fine Kyprian garb- adapted for the colder mainland of Tortall- stood foremost among the ranks of delegates crowding the dock to catch a glimpse of the banks on either side of the wide river that wound from Port Caynn to Corus. Cyne shivered as a cold breeze wound around her neck and swept past her; it tasted of magic, familiar magic that sent waves of exhilaration through her. Her deceivingly calm, blue-green eyes swept the docks; in the distance, she could make out the wide, royal platform crowded with welcomers.

"Trickster be damned, that's gonna be a lotta introductions," Merle muttered in her friend's ear. The redhead tossed her curly hair with annoyance. "We'll be standing for _hours_… don't they know formalities are best _inside_ and seated?" The young man standing next to her snorted.

"You could always turn into a bird and fly away, _hatchling_," he drawled, dark eyes glinting wickedly as he used a childhood nickname. Merle turned on him, glowering as her cheeks flushed dangerously.

"Shut your mouth, Brand Sibigat-"

"That _is _true," Damek said, leaning against the ship's railing to exchange a grin with Brand. "You _could _bail whenever you felt like it. Unfortunately, the rest of us humans remain grounded."

"Can you imagine the scene we'd cause, if the lot of us turned into a flipping flock of crows?" Brand laughed as his friends smiled.

"It would cause a stir," Cyne agreed wryly as she thought about the insult it would be to Tortall to attempt to elude the torture lying in wait. She eyed the crowd, which grew in size as they approached, and sighed, cursing formalities. "Don't suppose you could teach us?" Merle snorted.

"Sorry- the lot of you are two-leggers, through and through."

"Thank Mithros for that," Brand mumbled, earning a punch on the arm. He yelped. "What was that for, Merl?"

"For being annoying, in every sense of the word," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Cyne had to duck her head to hide a grin when she saw the look of fervent loathing in the redhead's hazel eyes. Only she knew the full extent of her friend's meaning; Brand's humor irritated Merle Crow as much as her attraction to him did. Not that either boy with them knew the daughter of the Kyprian spymaster had fallen for the son of the commander of the Isles' forces. With parents who were good friends from the days of the rebellion, Merle and Brand had grown up together, knowing their duties would someday be to guard the heir to the throne of the Copper Isles; what they hadn't know was that the heir would not be Dove's daughter, but the niece of the Queen, daughter of the very girl who had refused the Crown of the Isles for love of Carthak's chief healer.

There. Cyne's gaze roved the sky as a slow breeze picked up, whipping around her clothes and stirring her hair; her friends' garments stayed relatively still as the princess's grip on the railing tightened. Chills ran through her; she was being watched... and not in the ordinary sense, either.

Something seemed to pick at her mind, an urge that summoned her towards the dock, a primeval call that had grown from the growl on the coast of Tortall to the roar Cyne sensed as water lapped up against the ship's prow.

She was almost certain she knew what it was now; dreading the long proceedings that would inevitably unfold when they landed, she could not help but drum her fingers impatiently against the wood beneath her hands. Her friend, Deryne, had written many times about the mysteries circling _them_, and their certainty that Cyne was one of them....

When the ship was finally moored and the platform set out, Cyne swallowed heavily, scarcely noticing when Damek took her hand and squeezed it gently before falling back behind Lord Thearl Riddock, head of the delegation, and Lord Tajang, his second-in-command.

She was expected to lead; she stepped off of the ship, her gaze playing across the crowd, searching as she barely listened to the herald.

"Her Highness Princess Cyne Temaida Balitang Hetnim, Heir of Her Majesty Queen Dovasary-"

And there she was; Cyne locked eyes with another young woman wearing breeches and a shirt that had obviously seen many hours in the practice courts of the palace. Steel-blue, catlike eyes bore into hers; Deryne of Queenscove had the same intensity in her narrow, fair face as Cyne. Behind her were two tall youths, one with blond hair, the other with an intriguing mix of earthy colors that left his hair not red nor blond nor brown, but all of them at once. The blond, lanky one Cyne knew; he had the same vehement, wary look in his amber eyes as the last time she had seen him. The other she only knew through Deryne's letters, but she was not shy of him; he was one of them.

_One of us. _The burning pull on her mind faded as she laid eyes on them, leaving no doubt in her mind that Deryne's word about the Four were true. _Us. _The knowledge bore down on Cyne, striking her as certain as the sea pounding upon the sand, its familiar waves with their ancient, everlasting and not uncomfortable weight.

Deryne mouthed words as she backed away with the other two, fading into the crowd; Cyne wanted to follow, but the promise on her old friend's lips stayed her.

_Later we'll talk. All of us. _

But for now, the Kyprian would be on her own. Resigned, she turned her attention to Tortall's prince and her brother standing behind him.

If only she could stand with Merle and Brand; their whispered squabbling could have keep her entertained. As it was, there was no distraction from the drawn out introductions and the greetings that followed, made even slower by her impatience.

* * *

"There's a great deal of material Sir Myles and I have found in the library about the Old Ones," Numair said as he unraveled a scroll. "It was one of his lifelong studies, the Old Ones." Deryne stared at him incredulously.

"And you're only telling me _now_?" she demanded; they had _kept _information from her? How long had they been holding out? Numair sighed.

"We started after we put the Seals on the Vents in the Black Caverns; you hadn't been very open to further study at that point." Deryne bit her lip; that was true….

"Couldn't you have told me?" Numair frowned.

"It's grueling work, to discern anything of use," he admitted. "And we've found very little. From Malvyn, we know that his Guild was formed 'to help the Four to their destiny,' which _he_ says is death at the hands of Roger of Conte in order to make him a god." Deryne snorted, pushing back the flicker of pain she felt thinking about the resurrected Duke.

"And Roger lied to him; we know that, because _he _told me himself." Her eyes narrowed in hate. "And _then _said he didn't dare whisper the truth, even to a dead man. Woman." She made a face.

"But there _might _be a gleam of truth in the lie he gave out," Numair told her. "The trick is separating the truth from the lie." Deryne glowered, fists clenched. "From what we've found, _I _believe the Guild actually _was _intended to help you, but its purpose has been corrupted with this lie. Now it seeks to kill you instead of whatever it was supposed to do for you." He grimaced. "But it matters little. The damage is done; the Guild is your enemy now. But- besides their symbol- there is next to nothing about them."

"Don't you have Guild members to interrogate? To figure this all out?" the squire snapped. Her teacher ran a hand through his peppered hair.

"We can never find any members, not anyone within their important ranks; anyone we _do_ catch hardly knows where to meet, let alone what the Guild really is." Deryne's jaw set.

"You're a black robe mage," she accused, not attempting to veil the acid in her voice. "Why can't you snap your fingers and _poof!- _Guild. Or _Roger_- why can't we find Roger?" Her voice rose as the question spilled from her lips. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes; she hated him, she wanted the Duke _dead_.

"The Queen of Chaos is veiling him from seer's Sight," Numair said gently. "Even Irnai is forced to hold her tongue, even if she is able to See. You told me yourself she can barely speak in her usual riddles when she tries to warn you." He cleared his throat. "But I can tell you what we've found out so far, now that all four of you are here." A tight smile crossed his face. "I don't think we can dare to stay quiet now." Confused, Deryne shot her teacher a look, cocking an eyebrow. The man raised an eyebrow back. "Don't tell me you think it is a coincidence that Cyne is here now, with the three of you? With Scanra marshaling its forces, and whispers of this new ally of the North? Our spies in Scanra disappearing or turning up dead, or half-mad, with ravings about a shadow darker than night?" Deryne frowned; she had not heard _that_. Numair correctly interrupted her puzzlement. "The king has been trying to keep that quiet, but it's only a matter of time before people start talking," Numair whispered, his face dark. "Now, are you ready?" Deryne nodded.

Someone knocked on the door of Numair's study, then opened it; Rikash and Han strode in.

"Leave the door open," the black robe mage commanded, glancing out the window at the sun as it dipped towards the horizon. The two youths sat; Han took the seat to Deryne's right, and Rikash next to him. The girl finally noticed that Numair had set up four chairs in front of him instead of the usual three, and there was another one on his side of the desk. They waited in silence; in a few minutes, Deryne heard Sir Myles's voice out in the corridor.

"Yes, this door right here," the old man said, and Cyne was in the doorway, her bright eyes seeming startled as she took in the four people waiting. Then the old scholar appeared at her side and strolled in. "Hello, Numair. I suppose you want to start with that legend we found in the old Guild book?" The mage nodded, opening one of the texts on his desk. "I don't need that, Numair; I doubt I could even read that small print, anyway," Myles said, his laugh dry and hoarse as he settled in his chair, sharp eyes flickering back to Cyne, who lingered in the hall. "Well, come in! Shut the door behind you, too, if you please-" The girl obeyed, before slipping into the empty chair next to Deryne. The two girls exchanged smiles; they would catch up later.

"Han, Cyne. Cyne, Han," Numair muttered as he picked up another scroll and scrutinized it with narrowed eyes. Han nodded to the girl.

"Your Highness. Deryne has told me much about you." A smile crept across Cyne's face as his friendly manner eased her anxiety. "She never lets either of us read directly, but we hear bits from your letters often."

"Cyne," she corrected. Han grinned back.

"Cyne." He opened his mouth to continue.

"Introductions later," Myles interrupted. He cleared his throat and smiled crookedly. "Through _decades _of translations and searching, I have managed to put this together; it is as close to the original texts as our language allows." He paused, eyes burning with intense excitement. "Are you ready to hear the most elusive myth of the world, for immortal and mortal alike?" Deryne gave him a long look; the theatric air the old knight had picked up made her wary. "The long disputed, hidden, and rewritten truth of the ages long ago?" She couldn't help it; her eyes slid to Rikash, to see what he thought of this little speech. She caught him giving her the same grim, sidelong glance, and her gaze leaped back to Sir Myles, away from her fellow adept as though his stare burned her. "Here it is: the story of the Beginning, the Creation of the Realms."

* * *

_AN: Sorry about the delay; I was having difficulties with some aspects of this chapter, so I spent a bit of extra time on it.  
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	5. Chapter 4: The Beginning

_AN:Thanks to my reviewers, **SarahE7191**, **Dragonfly257**, **Shang Leopard**, **Alliekat1996**, and **Cymru na Alethaira**, and my beta, **KyrieofAccender**. I've been slow with updates, but hopefully I'll pick up again soon! MIDTERMS ARE OVER! HUZZA! :D _

_Please keep in mind that this legend is a legend in a legend-format... meaning stuff is myth-y and confusing and vague and weird... but hopefully I didn't obscure my point in my labors to sound all ancient and mysterious... :P Please tell me if you spot any problems with it.  
_

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* * *

Chapter Four_

_The Beginning_

_"In the Beginning, there was nothing; a Chaos descended from the corruption of light, from the illumination of the dark, in which there were no rules and indeed no lines to cross. From within this Chaos emerged the Father and Mother of All, who created the Divine Realms, a world separate from Chaos. Within their new world, they made the Unnamed and their siblings, the Gods. The Children were divine and beautiful, but they clashed, for although the Father and Mother had given great gifts to the Gods, but they gave a Power to the Unnamed that would determine the fate of the world, a Power that inspired envy and distrust between the two groups._

_To avoid the jealousy of their brothers and sisters, the Unnamed weaved their own world, between Chaos and Divine, their own escape into which the Gods could not follow. But the Father and Mother of All disapproved of the exclusion of the Gods, and so allowed Them their own way of interfering in the Mortal Realm; they created the mortal beings that walked this land with the Unnamed, through which the Gods could intervene in the Mortal Realm. There were humans and animals, both of which enchanted the Unnamed with their brilliant but finite lives. _

_There were children, between the Unnamed and humans, called the Seraph, and between Them and animals, called Elementals, both of whom were immortal but could die by sword or sickness. Inspired by these children, the Gods created their own races of immortals, who lived in the Divine realms, but they were made with Golden Fire, not the Fire of Mortals, made all the more precious by its impermanence, and preserved by divine blood. The Gods grew envious with the Unnamed as They built their great cities in forests, caverns, deserts, and mountains, and were worshipped and loved by all mortals of the earth._

_Seeing the discordance, the Mother and Father offered a balance of Power to their Children; four of the lesser Gods were given the key to the Unnamed's Power, but were forbidden to use it themselves. At the time in which the Realms neared a Return to Chaos, the Four Gods were to bestow the Power upon Man to preserve Order. At the same time, they named Uuasoae, youngest and most beloved of Gods, Queen of Chaos, for all Realms must have a protector. It was given to her as an honor, but she corrupted it and herself with it as she assumed her instrumental role in the Betrayal and Fall of the Unnamed. _

_The Gods grew more and more resentful of the Power given to their Siblings as the Unnamed devoted themselves to beauty and knowledge and unlocked the deepest secrets of the world, among them the Language of the Worlds and the Balance, allowing the Old Ones to employ their magics to protect mortals against the Gods' interference, to shield them from the divine wars and wagers for Power. They eased themselves between the mortal and divine realms and refused to step aside and let their siblings use humans as mere playthings._

_The Gods could not fathom this guardianship, nor the bond the Old Ones had formed with the small beings that delighted Them so. The Gods saw the meddling as a threat; they began to believe this Power would be used against Them. _

_At this time, there was a divide among the Unnamed; the Ysandir, beautiful and proud, were angered by the mortal, humble life that the Old Unnamed led. They saw no need for the earth; there was nothing in humans that held their interest, nothing amusing or worthwhile. They wanted the skies. _

_It was then that Uuasoae saw a chance to help her fellow Gods, her brothers and sisters; she came to the Ysandir, asking for their Power, promising a place in the Divine Realms for Ylon and Ylanda, the leaders of the Clan of Ysandir. When they agreed, the Gods struck with the demonic traitors at their side, and the cities burned; the Old Ones fell as they were hunted out, one by one, their Children disappearing into the deeper, darker parts of the world, hidden away for their own sakes. _

_But before the Unnamed- the Old Ones- could all be locked away in the insanity of Chaos, Mother and Father ended the horror, barring Uuasoae from both Mortal and Divine Realms, banishing Her to the depths of the Chaos that would destroy Her. They did not free the Old Ones; they allowed the Gods to take the roles of their Siblings, to become the guardians of Mankind, even if their interference was for their own gain, not out of love for their worshippers. _

_But they promised the Betrayal was not the end of the Old Ones; they would Return, in the darkest of times, to the world they were forced to abandon so many eons ago."_

Silence rang throughout the room, burning in Deryne's mind like a bed of embers, sizzling with vitality, preying upon her senses with an intimation of a stirring flame. She snuck a look at Numair, who had his hands folded atop his desk as he eyed each of the youths before him, gauging their reactions and the time the legend would take to sink in before he could continue.

Han's eyes were closed, his face as placid as that of a sleeping child. Rikash glowered into space, as if he could scare his thoughts into place. Surely, if Deryne opened her mind to the _gudruna _lying in the air around them, she would pick up their stray, unguarded thoughts-

Deryne thrust the temptation out of her mind before she could even fully consider it; if his mind _was _open, it was not her fault that she heard to what he let out of his mind, and Rikash would never know she had listened to anything, but it was a vulnerable moment for them all. Even if she didn't know how Rikash felt about her "mind-reading," she would not- _could not_ take advantage of it.

"So what _was _this Power? The one given to the Unnamed? The Old Ones?" Cyne leaned forwards as she asked, elbows resting on her knees, her eyes glittering.

Deryne raised an eyebrow as Numair sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the foreign royal. The squire would not have been able to guess that Cyne would be the first to break the silence; she had been betting on a cutting remark or cynicism from Rikash's corner first.

"It's just a legend," Sir Myles remarked, a little smile deepening his wrinkles. Cyne's gaze fell upon the old man.

"Then why would you tell us?" she asked dubiously.

"Because it is what the Guild believes," Numair said. "And whether or not it _is _true, it doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," Rikash snapped, amber eyes flashing as they shot to his father. "_Four lesser gods? _Such as Frejonak-" His finger snapped out towards Deryne. "-who decided that a squire stranded in the middle of a desert, being chased down by Shadows, was important enough to him for him to risk flaunting an ancient ban on divine interference in the Black City _and _give her access to a dead, _unnamed _language to Seal that Vent to Chaos?" His fists were clenched, his face furious. "Such as the Wavewalker, who seems to have given a mortal the strength to tear oceans apart and fight a _goddess_?" His finger slid to Cyne. "Such as Yama? Fire-lady, they call her." His eyes blazed like liquid flame. "They are the gods of the elements, along with Gaian, earth-healer and plant-speaker!" He nearly hit Han as he gestured towards the last of the three. "Who better to grant this _Power _you natter on about?" His hand waved in Sir Myles's direction.

"Rikash," Numair began sternly, but his son stood, shaking his head.

"_Haven't you been paying attention?_" he hissed through his teeth. "_Four! _That damned number is _everywhere!_" He pointed at his three companions. "Even here- _especially _here! Unnatural magic- fire, water, wind, and earth! _Four!_"

"Your father _can _count," Deryne muttered. She met her friend's glare unflinchingly, daring him to retort.

"We could argue this for years," Myles told the whole room. "_Theoretically_, as an answer to your question, Your Highness, we can say that this Power would be a might beyond the gods." He cleared his throat. "You gave Deryne permission to reveal the details of your own adventures at her discrepancy; _you _have already demonstrated a Power beyond the gods. Beyond _a _goddess, at least. And you preserved order in the Isles by sending Kypria to Chaos." His lips twitched. "Very similar to what she and the other gods did to the Old Ones. _If _we assumed these hazy legends and prophecies are true."

"Which we aren't?" Han's lips curved into a small, knowing smile; Deryne made a mental note to speak with him later- he could have been her brother, he was so like her. But at the same time, he caught so much that escaped her notice; from the thoughtful look in his eyes, she suspected that this had happened once again. "Because what could be true and so unheard of?" he mused. Deryne's eyes narrowed at the young man's cryptic question, twinged with irony; it sounded more like he was more inclined to believe this secret was _true_, and not a small-minded conspiracy.

"True or false, you can see why so few copies of their story have survived the millennia," Myles said gruffly. "It's blasphemous. The Gods themselves would hunt down this to burn it." Deryne raised an eyebrow; now she thought she saw what Han was getting at.

"Instead of discrediting it? Instead of denying it as a lie?" She pursed her lips. "Maybe that story has a grain of truth in it, then?" Her jaw set. "I met Ylon and Ylanda, in the Black City," she reminded them. Their words ran through her mind, making more sense as they played over in her head.

"That's right," Numair said thoughtfully. "What did they say?" A phrase bubbled to her lips, Ylanda's mocking laughter echoing in her head.

"_I would like to see this child, who plays with powers that make the gods shiver,_" she whispered, the words sending chills through her spine. Then she closed her eyes. "And they told me about Kyprioth, in the Isles- how he was clever enough to win the allegiance of Cyne's protector."

"The Wavewalker," Rikash said simply, disgust and anger in his eyes. Deryne ignored him; her memory wasn't finished with her yet….

"_A gate and a little knowing- a twirl here, sacrifice there. We know mages who have been resurrected with less." Both Ysandir cackled. "Poor little girl- such deception! There is a tightly woven web around you, isn't there?" _

Deryne clutched the arm of her chair, stiffening as their meaning finally hit her full force; she hadn't thought about her encounter with the demons in over a year- They had _known! _And Ylanda, that beautiful, cruel immortal-

_The Shadows _have _acted oddly…. Violent one moment… peaceful the next. Sometimes, they let the arrogant fools through…but sometimes, they are so vicious, they must be receiving direct orders from the cruelest of men…. It's as though their loyalty is split between two people… or their master is a _very _troubled individual. He might not even know he controls them. How amusing would _that _be?" _

"Gods help me," she whispered, face whitening. As the others' faces darkened with concern, a scream escaped her. "They _told me_!" Rage raced through her veins as she stood, shaking even harder than Rikash had. "_Are you happy?_" she snapped, glaring up at the ceiling. "You're probably laughing now, in whatever damned nightmare you belong in!" Tears of fury filled her vision.

"Deryne-" She turned on Numair, who had circumvented his desk to her side.

"_They knew that Roger had been resurrected!_" she spat. "_And they knew how!_"

"They couldn't have," Numair replied, but he sounded too confused to be certain. Deryne threw her chair out of her way as she turned her back on them, her hands buried in her hair.

If they could have just _told _her… If those demons hadn't loved to play their damned games with words….

Maybe Hadrian Malvyn would have been caught. Maybe Roger of Conte would have been sent back to Chaos, where he belonged.

"Maybe Inar would be alive," she hissed, her breath constricting as his name left her lips. _They _knew _that Malvyn had summoned Roger, that Roger had possessed Inar…. _Maybe they had realized that Inar was unwittingly, unwillingly, the Shadowmaster.

But that was before the events of last year. Before Inar had fought Roger, before he had won and Roger's soul took refuge in Malvyn. Before Roger had sent Chaos magic after Deryne, to kill her. Before Inar had stepped between her and the deadly spell.

"Inar?" she heard Cyne ask softly, and swore to herself. She had written a lot about him in her letters to the Kyprian… but just stopped after he had died. She could not bear to explain it in a letter, in words penned on a piece of parchment. She was not certain if she could bear to explain it in words now. "I-" Deryne thanked the gods when her friend fell silent.

"I'm going to kill him," she vowed for the thousandth time. "I'm going to find that mongrel, and send him to the bowels of Chaos where his sick mind can dwell for the rest of eternity-"

"If I don't get to him first," Rikash hissed; the girl looked up and locked stares with him, intensity growing between them as the moments ran on, Deryne's blue-gray eyes swelling with tears. A breeze spun through the room; the air around Rikash began to shimmer, like a heat mirage in the desert. With a look at his friend, Han stood up and walked away from the fire mage, grabbing Cyne by the arm and taking her with him across the room.

"Air combustion," he muttered in her ear. "_Trust _me- don't get in the way." His whisper was the only sound in the room as Numair walked over to the squire and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe it would have been different," he allowed. "But maybe they were bound, like Irnai- like Frejonak, and all the other gods that you four have seen."

"They _laughed_," she retorted hoarsely. "Laughed, and laughed… and laughed." Her lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Laughed themselves sick. I probably would've, too, if they had let me in on the joke." She cleared her throat and broke eye contact with Rikash. After a moment, the air around the adept settled, and Han strolled back to his seat, studying his hands.

"When do the negotiations begin, Your Highness?" Myles asked; Deryne blinked. It was like the old scholar, diffusing tension with a change of topic. It didn't change the fact that she had explaining to do later… and she dreaded it. Cyne hesitated.

"Early tomorrow, but I do not know how much I will be participating; I'm more like a front for others to hide behind," she added dryly. Deryne's churning stomach calmed at the wry remark.

"I doubt that," the old man replied kindly. "Your aunt trusts you with the affairs of her kingdom; after all, she has willed it to be yours, one day."

"What, precisely, have we been called to discuss?" Cyne queried. "The invitation was rather vague." When Deryne looked, Myles was smiling.

"I expect that Their Majesties issued it that way on purpose," he answered.

"No doubt they have," Cyne replied, a smile in her voice. "But now that we have been lured, we should have a taste of the bait."

"If the business concerns Scanra, there will be no need for urgency until the snow from the northern passes clears; even a messenger couldn't get through now. I suspect all your questions will be answered in the morning." Myles raised his eyebrows at the girl. "The Yamani delegation was forced to await your arrival, you know; not a word was whispered to them nor will be until tomorrow."

"Officially," Cyne agreed, amusement creeping into her voice. "But who knows what is spoken behind closed doors- in the servants' quarters and among friends?"

"Clever girl," Myles approved, a chuckle escaping him. "I suppose Aly's always been a close teacher?" Cyne raised a eyebrow with a frown.

"Aly? Do you mean Lady Alianne, my aunt's advisor?" She shrugged, eyes gleaming. "I know her, but I would not claim intimacy." The old scholar burst into hearty laughter.

"I'm certain you don't," he chuckled. "Just as she's always told you not to." He shook his head with a sigh. "I miss that lass. Give her my best."

A sharp knock turned the heads of all six; Numair sighed as he removed his Seal on the room and answered the door.

A wide-eyed, gasping adept stood in the door, peering in as he fought to catch his breath. His gaze ranged from Deryne, who rubbed furiously at her eyes before stepping closer to see the messenger better, to the three youths rising from their seats, to Myles, who waited in his chair patiently.

"Master Numair- he sent me down to find you, now," the student said, hand against the doorway. "They need you, now- urgent meeting-"

"Who?" the black robe mage prompted.

"His Majesty," the youth answered. "There's a meeting for the delegates, now-" He swallowed heavily. "There's a man here. A messenger. From Scanra."

* * *

"I don't see _why _we're here," Rikash muttered, crossing his arms as he glowered across the room at the foreigner who had caused the whole stir; Igor Reuthsak of Scanra was speaking with an official from the Yamani Islands, a smug smile across his face as the Islander fidgeted. "Sure, his appearance at the gates, demanding an audience, was a bit unexpected-"

"Try impossible," Deryne interrupted grimly. "Nothing less than some twisted turn of fate would have gotten him through the mountain passes."

"Unless he's been here for awhile, biding his time," Han added quietly.

"And I'm not sure which would be scarier," Cyne finished; despite the flurry of activity, she had managed to sit herself down with her three companions. The gathering was huge; all from both delegations sat or stood in the chamber, while at least another delegation and a half from Tortall lurked, waiting for Reuthsak to address the king. "Didn't he say his message was urgent?"

"That would be why we're here now, instead of meeting in the morning." Rikash rolled his eyes. "And we weren't even supposed to be at the negotiations-"

"I guess your father decided it was time we saw what decisions go on while we're blowing immortals to bits," Deryne murmured; Reuthsak seemed too well dressed- too clean shaven- to be delivering a message directly from Scanra. "He's been waiting in the city," she decided. "And was ordered by a speaking-spell to come today."

"Why all the dramatics?" Riaksh grumbled. "Enough of a fuss that my father brought _us _along…." Deryne pursed her lips, then shrugged.

"I suppose they like a big entrance. All that attention."

"I know I wouldn't," Han mumbled, shaking his head. "But he's got something in his hands-"

"It's a version of a speaking-spell," Cyne answered immediately; Deryne shifted so that she could make out the small blue crystal in Reuthsak's hands. "Sort of. It's called a projection stone. They use them all the time to deliver messages in the Isles; a ruler uses a projection spell to convey their image and words into a crystal. Then a messenger can take it to another and activate the spell; an illusion of the ruler will speak their piece when the messenger chooses to deliver it. It can neither be forced from the stone or be altered, once the spell has been set."

"Why use it?" Han asked. Cyne shrugged.

"Most of the time it's to show off," she told him. "Sometimes seeing a ruler give their message in person makes it more impressive, or delivers more of a shock."

"Shock, eh?" Han eyed Reuthsak with a frown.

"He's here to show off," he said firmly. "You can tell from that look he's got; that cat's stolen some cream, and he's ready to rub it in our faces." Deryne had to smile at the metaphor; Han was right. More than right.

"Ah… but what sort of cream are we talking about?" she asked, trying to picture Reuthsak's narrow face with whiskers.

"We're about to find out," Cyne muttered as the heralds announced Their Majesties of Tortall; the king and queen swept in, surveying the bowing crowd before turning their attention to Reuthsak.

"I hope not to keep you all long," the Scanran called out; his voice attacked the syllables of Common harshly, causing a hoarse hacking in the back of his throat. His smirk was clear even from where Deryne sat, in the back of the chamber. "Your mages have already inspected the stone; my king and I only wish to impart a message to you and your _conference_." Deryne's eyes fell on Numair; her teacher was scrutinizing their visitor, his face grim. "In fact, this comes from the closest advisor of my king- he has aided our country through a hard winter, and now, we hope, that he will be able to…." He paused, grinning as he scanned the crowd. "Heal old scars." A chill went down Deryne's spine as his gaze stopped on her and her companions; she shot another look at Numair, who was frowning now. "He wishes to unite our nation, and bring about a peace that Scanra and its neighbors have never fully enjoyed for our youth."

"I hate him already," Rikash muttered.

"You hate everybody," Han pointed out practically; Deryne would have smiled if she had not been watching Reuthsak so keenly. His cold stare fell to the stone in his hands, and he raised it to eye-level.

The air before him shivered; a translucent figure formed in the center of the chamber, tall and broad-shouldered, with brown hair and a ring on his hand. But his face….

"Aren't Scanrans' blond?" Cyne muttered, but Deryne could not answer. For the second time in two hours' time, all the blood seemed to be drained from her, leaving her lifelessly staring into the horror that stared her back in the face no matter how hard she scorned it.

She did not have to tear her eyes from that face to know the ring on his hand: a black opal, with the insignia of the Guild in gold-

"To Tortall, the Copper Isles, and the Yamani Islands," Hadrian Malvyn drawled, turning in their direction as he gave an elaborate, ironic bow. What was left of Deryne's blood turned to ice as he rose with a small smirk in her direction before turning back to the king and queen. "Your servant, Sar Heolstor, Chancellor of the Royal Affairs of Scanra and advisor to His Majesty, Warlord of all of Scanra, King Hauk Ingmar, at your service. I greet you with all the honor and respect your position demands, and make a proposal too enticing to reject."

Then the smirking illusion burst into flames.

* * *

_AN: Guesses? I'm going to write now... I'll have another chapter up as soon as I get, say, seven reviews...? ;D_


	6. Chapter 5: Duty Calls

_Chapter Five_

_Duty Calls_

Deryne and Han turned on Rikash, who looked from one to the other, eyes narrowing.

"That wasn't me," he said coldly, even as Deryne saw Numair frowning in their direction. She raised an eyebrow.

"It wasn't me, or Han, for that matter," she told him, a drawl entering her voice. "We aren't the resident walking fireballs here." Rikash's lip curled as his gaze slid back to the charred crystal that the Scanran envoy studied.

"Malvyn- or Heolstor, as he's calling himself now- always liked a show."

"Malvyn?" Cyne's eyes shot over to the scorch mark on the floor, where the apparation of her once-kidnapper had stood. "_That _was-"

"You didn't know?" Deryne asked increduosly; when she had first laid eyes on the mage, she had recognized him instantly, even through the glamour he had worn to disguise his age. Cyne shrugged.

"There wasn't a lot of time before he burst into flames," she replied, voice neutral, although her eyes flickered back to Rikash, who shot her a glare that sent her gaze back to the spectacle before them; Numair was striding towards the Scanran, his polite face masking whatever feelings he had.

"It wasn't me," he grumbled. "But I bet Malvyn knew you would blame _me_." He looked like he was about to spit on the floor. "His little salutations."

"No worries," Reuthsak boomed, waving Numair away as he rummaged through his cloak. "Chancellor Heolstor gave me another one, in case of accidents." Deryne's jaw set.

"You're right, Ri," she whispered when the Scanran pulled out a second crystal. "That was planned. But why-"

"To assert his position," Cyne whispered. "Intimidation." Deryne's fists clenched as Reuthsak directed a smug smile in their direction.

"And the ol' Chancellor told his little messenger, too." Rikash snorted.

"_Chancellor._" A rushing stream of hissed curses raced from his lips. "High and mighty now, are you?" he muttered, shaking his head as he settled back in his seat, traces of his anger slipping away. "Just you wait; I'll drag you back where you belong."

Malvyn reappeared in the throne room, adjusting the cuffs of his robe before he looked up with a small smile.

"My apologies," he murmured. "Shall we continue?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Han put a hand on Rikash's shoulder and whisper something in his ear as the fire-mage glared down at his once friend. The figure bowed before Their Majesties, and Numair stepped closer to the king, hand flexing; he knew Malvyn, too.

"Scanra's sheltering a traitor- a traitor a thousand times over," Rikash muttered. Irritated, Deryne stepped on his foot. Complaining wouldn't solve anything. "Damn Malvyn to the pits of-" Deryne grabbed him by the arm and tightened her grip until he winced.

"Why support the façade?" she hissed, gaze locking with his. "Malvyn might as well be dead; you're looking at the Duke of Conte wrapped up in his newest flesh vessel." She let him go, eyes traveling back to the Chancellor, Malvyn, Sar Heolstor- whatever name Roger had chosen for himself.

"King Hauk and I have sought allies to bring peace and stability to our nation," he explained, his sincerity as treacherous as a snake's. "And, after many long months, we have found them; an island, to the far north-" The crowd stirred, but Roger continued, unable to hear their surprise.

"How far north?" Cyne whispered with a thoughtful frown on her face. Deryne made a face, shrugging.

"A great and mighty people," the Chancellor declared. "-have bound themselves to the fate of Scanra, and with them we would like to extend a hand of sincere charity to you-" Deryne snorted. "-to bring the rise of a new age." He paused, smiling across the room. "And thus, we invite you to come to our own conference, in two weeks' time, to understand completely the wisdom of joining us." Then, message delivered, he faded into nothing. Roald eyed Reuthsak.

"And if we refuse…?" the king queried, face hinting that he suspected the answer. Reuthsak bowed again.

"As a lowly servant, I would strongly advise adherence to this magnanimous invitation… and to witness the might of our new alliance." Deryne glared down at the smug messenger.

"The clouds are more lowly," Han muttered. "Deryne, who are they talking about?" She shook her head slowly as she scrutinized the man; he was no mere messenger- he knew too much, she could tell by that knowing, gloating glint in his eyes…. He had his own private joke running; he _knew _the details of all the secrets he dangled tantalizing in front of them….

"He knows where Roger is," she whispered as he stared up at Roald, the only taunt in his face the lack of one. She leaned forwards, narrowing her eyes as she sized Reuthsak up.

His features were sharp, his cheeks hollow and eyes sullen despite the comfort he must have enjoyed in the city, waiting to be sent by Roger to torture them. Shrewd. Strong-willed? Perhaps…. It mattered little.

"A rat," she muttered, leaning forward as far as she could, focusing on him as a soft breeze stirred her clothes and swept towards the Scanran, playing across his face experimentally. "Let's see how much Roger trusts you."

A hand on her wrist startled her out of her probe; she glanced over at Rikash, who was watching Reuthsak, his face stony.

"Don't," he said flatly. Numair was looking at them again; his gaze caught Deryne's, and he nodded, marginally. Deryne tried to pull free, but Rikash held her tightly; she wouldn't be able to yank free without attracting attention.

"Even your da's given me the all clear," Deryne snapped, disgusted as she looked over at Han in appeal, but he evaded her stare. She turned back to Rikash, who still hadn't returned her gaze.

"Don't," he repeated. Deryne inhaled sharply in exasperation.

"Ri, this rat isn't going to squeak unless we squeeze him." It was her job, her _duty _to the Crown, to protect her country from Malvyn and his scum.

"Exactly," he retorted, and Deryne's brow knitted in confusion. His face twisted into a grimace as he kept his eyes on Reuthsak. "There are other ways," he said through gritted teeth. She snorted; didn't he see what was at stake? Didn't he _want _to catch Roger, before the bastard hurt anyone else?

"We don't know what we're getting into," she hissed.

"Malvyn knows about your powers. _All _of them. Do you really think-" Deryne had had enough; she gripped his wrist with her free hand, her thumbnail biting gently into his skin as a warning.

"Let _go_." He finally looked at her, and Deryne nearly blanched, although she had been preparing herself for it; his eyes were hateful slits, burning with anger… at her. All for her. She dug her nail a little harder, glaring back at him determinedly.

His stare wavered, and his eyes closed, his face slumping, invisible weight bearing down on him.

"Do what you think you have to." Then his eyes snapped open, his face suddenly in hers, as his grip on her loosened. There was something new in those golden orbs, something uncertain. "Please, Deryne," he breathed, lips unmoving; it went unheard through the room by all… it never would have reached her own ears if it were not for the _gudruna _that pulled every word from him. A whisper for her alone.

She tore her gaze from his and stared back down at the Scanran, head spinning; she had almost forgotten-

She could hear her pulse, thundering in her ears, as she singled Reuthsak out, closing off all other distractions- all other flurries of motion and sound- as she called up her _gudruna_.

Rikash watched her out of the corner of his eye; he couldn't _believe _she was doing this- he could believe she was doing it _in front of him_. And _he was letting her! _He hadn't thought she had the nerve to flaunt that cursed power before him. Nothing was safe from _her _ears, not even the distant whisper of thought. Perhaps Reuthsak deserved it; probably not. Rikash shuddered, remembering the all too intimate pressure of her presence in his mind, omniscient and inescapable.

His fists clenched as the telltale breeze stirred in the air; he willed himself not to look, but his eyes were drawn to her as she gazed intently at her victim, sensing his strength.

He couldn't watch this-

Unbidden, a memory of the fateful day at Pirate's Swoop rose in his mind; they had both lost their tempers that summer. The little whirlwind spell… the shadows in the flames…their argument… and their first, true fight.

He had taunted her… and she had hit him. First physically. Then her magic had ripped out of control, tearing his mind and memories apart in a siege of her special little "wind whispers" before he countered the attack and _burned _her out of his head.

The Wavewalker's Feast, Irnai had called it. The day which marked the beginning of the waxing of the Gods' powers. _As the magic grows again, so does the danger of power spiraling out of control. _Out of control, indeed.

He could have killed her.

Maybe she could have killed him.

He saw her blink, her long lashes trembling in the tiny zephyrs that swept across her skin. Her brow furrowed, and her hand flexed, reaching out towards Reuthsak, to focus her thoughts.

_Don't, _he echoed in his mind. _Please…. _He was not one to beg, but maybe someone _would _go up in flames if he was forced through that horror again… even if it was not him suffering. Deryne's fists clenched, then relaxed. A sigh escaped her lips; her hand fell into her lap as she closed her eyes. The feeling of growing power around her faded, and Rikash almost smiled as she shook her head.

He looked over at his father, who was frowning at Deryne; clearly, he wanted information. Rikash's stomach sank- would Deryne obey their teacher, his father?

But when she opened her eyes and caught sight of the black robe mage, she shrugged, then shook her head. A breath of relief slipped from Rikash's lips, and Deryne's gaze shot towards him, but he ignored the weight of her eyes on him, pretending he noticed nothing.

"I hope you're happy," she growled as Reuthsak bowed once more to Their Majesties and took leave of them. Almost immediately, people rose and moved, either to the door and their rooms or their respective delegations to discuss the events that had unfolded. "I need some sleep," she said shortly, nodding to Han and Cyne. "See you tomorrow."

Rikash waited until she was some fifty feet away, almost at the door, before he whispered, too quietly for even Han- standing right next to him- to hear.

"Thanks."

He saw her turn, stiffened as she shot him a dark look through narrowed eyes.

Then, jaw set, she nodded and walked out of the chamber.

* * *

Messages were sent. Plans were made long into the night; if a conference was to be held in Scanra in a scarce two weeks, they would need to begin traveling almost immediately. The Yamanis and Kyprians were given approval from their respective monarchs to journey north with the Tortallans, but if there were any further resolutions among the three powers, Deryne heard nothing of them. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the news that the meeting in Scanra would bring.

Deryne was thankful she had no part in the whole affair; she kept to her room with Duskwing, trying to stir the Chamber up into speaking with her. She was also grateful that Numair had decided not to press the issue of why she had not gleaned any information from Reuthsak; with Ri sitting next to her, she just couldn't have done it.

And then, just as her damned guilt broke her concentration, other _gudruna _claimed her attention. Rikash's unguarded memories had crowded her mind, shattering any resolve her own thoughts hadn't buried.

Hopefully, Numair assumed she had failed, rather than that she was weak enough to reject her magic. Wasn't that exactly what Rikash had mocked in her, her refusal to embrace her power? She wished he would decide what he hated.

She was surprised, then, the morning before the delegations were to depart, when both Numair and Sir Alan appeared at her door.

"Guess where we're going this time, squire?" Alan queried, a maniacal grin on his clever face. Still waking up, Deryne blinked, her mind struggling to guess.

"We've been invited to the grand ball of Shadow-demons?" She paused. "Or did they forget our invitations, and we're going to remind them?" Her knight master snorted.

"You and Alan are going with the Tortallan delegation." Deryne's eyes widened, but Numair held up a head to forestall any comments. "I'm staying here; we don't know what Malvyn had up his sleeve, so my place is here with Their Majesties until we undestand what's going on with Scanra better." Deryne frowned.

"But-"

"Harailt will be there," Numair told her. "And I feel that whatever mysteries are unfolding now- this unknown force pledging itself to our enemies- have a great deal to do with you four… or Malvyn _thinks _they do." He pursed his lips. "Talking to Rethusak gave me _some _insight into this cloudy haze… and the way he spoke hints that he knows about you four… and that Malvyn isn't extending this invitation to our nations as much as he is to _you_." Deryne's jaw clenched.

"Then _why _are we playing into his hands?" she hissed. Numair glanced down thep passageway behind him.

"Can we come in?" he asked lowly. Deryne held the door open wide for her two teachers, then closed it when they entered. Numair flicked his fingers, and his Gift sealed the room.

"What is it?" the squire prompted, wanting to know what Numair had planned. He grimaced.

"You and Cyne will be on the ship leaving from Port Caynn for Scanra in a day's time; you will be in the official delegation, with full access to every meeting they hold." He locked gazes with her. "I trust you will be able to sense their intentions, read minds- whatever you can to help us." Deyrne fought not to look away or seem guilty.

"Whatever is needed," she promised, reassured by the fact that Numair hadn't mentioned his son yet.

"Han and Rikash… have already left for Scanra," Numair said, watching Deryne's face as he explained. "I knew what we would have to do from the moment Reuthsak left the night he delivered his message; the two of them are making their way to Scanra's capital. They will wait in the city, close but far away enough not to draw attention." He cleared his throat. "I want a free hand ready for anything, in case events spin out of control." Deryne cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you think they will?" she asked him. The black robe mage's jaw set; he shook his head.

"I don't know," he admitted wearily. "We don't have enough information to make any guesses. But if you need backup, or protection, they'll be moments away…. They're our secret weapon, so to speak." His lips twitched. "Maybe I'm being overprotective, but I don't like this talk of an island… no one, mage or explorer, seer or ancient text, mentions such a place so far north." Deryne frowned.

"Irnai-" Numair sighed heavily.

"Babbling nonsense. I can't understand any of it, except for the occasional warning of doom." Deryne nodded, eyes narrowed.

"Mm-hm." She raised her eyebrows. "So that would be why you want a secret cavalry up your sleeve?" Numair smiled, albeit tiredly.

"To put this entire serious series of events into a flippant summary, yes." Deryne sighed, her gaze sweeping over her room: opened trunk, scattered papers from half-finished letters, her kestrel glaring at the intruders….

"I've got some work to do, then." She flexed her wrists. "Just when I thought I could put away my heavy winter clothes…." A soft laugh escaped her. "Well, duty calls."


	7. Chapter 6: The Leave Taking

_AN: Thanks to all my reviewers for the past two chapters! I have reached 50 reviews already! :D This chapter would have been done quicker, but, in a spurt of muse-ness, I worked out the entire twisted plot of this story! So thanks to **SarahE7191**, **twilightm00n**, **Shang Leopard**, **Eternityfalls**, **Cymru na Alethaira**, **PurpleBookWorm**, **Alliekate1996**, **Evilstrawberry**, **Dragonfly257**, and my beta, **KyrieofAccender**.  
_

* * *

_Chapter Six_

_The Leave Taking_

She had one final practice in the training yards; Numair wanted her to be ready for anything Roger could throw at her. Deryne closed her eyes and sought to clear her mind, moving through a series of Yamani stretches that her aunt Kel had taught her. She felt more like a dancer than a warrior as she reached upwards towards the ceiling.

Her mind opened to the _gudruna _around her, shutting all her thoughts away as she made room for her magic to work through her. As always, a panicked thrill whipped through her, upsetting her calm as she strived to bury herself underneath her magic; she felt as though she was losing herself whenever she tried this, and that fear only brought back a haze of worry that impeded her progress.

There was another reason she was more skittish than usual; Numair had put an inactive Gate on the floor beneath her, warning her that he _would _activate it with his Gift at some point to suppress her _gudruna_, but he had not told her when, or what she would be forced to do- he said that surprise was half the challenge, probably more. All she knew was that Cadel and Sir Alan were involved.

But now she thrust all that knowledge away from her, pulling the air around her into her mind to sweep everything away except the news it brought her.

"Shall we begin?" Numair's delicate whisper whipped through her head, and Deryne nodded once, sending her magic out to fill the space around her- "_Sekali _first." Numair's new name for wind arrows; _sekali_, like _gudruna_, were part of her magic over the wind. Her teacher had gotten the name from myths about Frejonak, which said he wielded daggers of air that the northerners called _sekali_. Deryne had no doubt that the mountain god had bestowed this power of his onto her; it was her most deadly skill.

Deryne stood perfectly still, listening to the whispers the breezes ushered back to her; she recognized the taint of magic the moment it entered her mind. As she seized the feeling, the magic left her fingers. To Deryne, it seemed almost ages later that she whipped around, eyes open, to watch her invisible spell shoot through Numair's illusion of a Shadow immortal, which disappeared as two more appeared. Deryne's fingers snapped out to release the _sekali _before she turned to destroy an illusion only half-formed behind her. Again and again she thrust her magic out with almost no effort, even as she "killed" hundreds of the illusions surrounding her; she could hear Numair's heavy breathing- the _gudruna _told her that sweat poured down his forehead as he exerted himself to keep her busy. This was the part of the _sekali _that frightened her, if she stopped to think about it. Unlike any spell equal to the them, these wind arrows took no effort; the _sekali _demanded only focus, something Deryne had honed in her years of listening to _gudruna_. It was what made the king wary of her; if Numair had not lied to him about the extent of her abilities, Roald would not trust her. He might even consider her a danger to the kingdom.

But what he feared was that she could kill anyone before her without warning- could kill a whole room without a bead of sweat marring her face-

What he didn't understand was that it hurt her; even slaying Shadows- made of Chaos and darkness and nothingness- tore at the fringes of her mind. Now, since what she fought was only a conjured image, there was none of the agony that touched her when she used her _gudruna _to find the mind of that she sought to destroy and lock it into her own mind before she sent a _sekali _to rip the beast to pieces, listening to its fear and confusion, its writhing and the silence that permeated the wind when it finally surrendered to death.

And that was only a Shadow… Deryne shuddered to think what killing a person with _sekali _would be like.

A Shadow swept across the ground towards her; Deryne's arm snapped downwards, her palm facing the ground, and a blast of wind slammed into the stone floor, thrusting her up into the air as the illusion flew under her, soaring only a few feet before a _sekali _sent it into oblivion. She teetered unsteadily in the air as the final ring of Shadows closed in on her, then released the gales holding her up. As she fell towards the ground, she sharpened each wind arrow in her mind, finding the exact place it would land on each victim and releasing the torrent of _sekali_ into the wave of darkness. Then she called up the breezes once more to ease her landing; she slowed, then landed, cat-like, on the ground, her sword clanging against the floor. With a grin, she glanced over at Numair, who hated when she let herself free-fall, but he was already busy; she felt the current of Gift magic enter the Gate beneath her, and her smile faded as her _gudruna _were silenced and the outlines of the Gate glowed black, leaving her with only her acute hearing, which warned her of someone behind her just in time.

She leapt away as Cadel approached, sword out. Chiding herself, she drew her own blade and held it out just as he attacked.

They exchanged blow after blow, parry after parry, but Cadel always had the upper hand. Deryne was not surprised; he gave no natural hint of his intentions and she sought none. His eyes feinted one way; his blade whipped the other way. He had been the squire of Prince Jasson, the King's Champion, and it showed, even though relatives had always bragged that Cadel had a natural talent. Only her speed and the wide expanse of space saved her; he could not back her into a corner.

Her muscles burned; her breath was heavy and quick as she evaded his blade, ducking more and more as her palms sweated, her fingers weakening their hold on the hilt as Cadel slammed his blade into hers again and again.

Still she persisted, teeth gritted.

Then, suddenly, the black magic beneath her feet winked out; the _gudruna _raced back to her, sending renewed energy and assurance through her. She had a split second warning of urgent images before her knight master's sword whipped towards her from behind. Engaging her cousin quickly, she thrust Cadel back and ducked, listening hard as the sword flew over her. Turning she kicked out, hitting Sir Alan's knee as Cadel came back down on her. She parried her cousin's blow, then blocked a low cut from behind without a glance at her other attacker.

_That has to be embarrassing, _she thought, shifting her blade into a complex set of patterns to ward off Cadel, then meeting her knight master's sword, using both hands to hold his upper cut away from her head. _To be blocked by a girl-child without a look your way. _She felt as though she were dancing, swimming in an ocean of _gudruna_; she leapt to the side as Alan bore down. Then she jumped back into a fray of furious blows and parries with both opponents, neatly staying a step ahead as long as she had the strength. But, inevitably, her muscles tired, and Alan locked blades with her, giving Cadel an opening to "end" the duel by tapping her with the blunt of his blade.

As she disengaged with a sigh, Numair's black Gift shimmered across each blade, releasing the protective spells he had placed for their own safety. Her eyes blurred for a moment, and she sheathed her sword as a headache swarmed her mind. She put both hands to her temples.

"Ouch." She winced, eyes still closed. Carefully, she closed her mind to all but the usual _gudruna _that raced through her head. "I think I need to lie down."

"Only for a few hours," Alan said as Cadel helped her walk. "And then we leave for Caynn." Deryne groaned.

"This is all your ma's fault," she told her cousin. "If it weren't for her, I never would have taken to the harebrained notion that knighthood was a _good _idea."

* * *

"What I don't get," Damek grumbled as he and his two companions trooped towards the town inn. "-is why _I _have to be the squire." Rikash raised an eyebrow at the Kyprian.

"Because it's your only way to stay in the loop," he retorted abruptly. "To keep an eye on your little darling." Damek shot him a look, then looked over at Han in appeal.

"I'm too old to be a squire," Han answered. "And Rikash has that noble air down to an art; he _has _lived in the palace all this life." His green-brown twinkled when Rikash glared at him.

"Careful," the fire mage muttered. "I hear servants usually aren't that impudent when speaking to their masters." Han chuckled softly under his breath, quickening his step in order to reach the door before the others and yank it open with a bow.

"After you, then, my liege," he drawled. Rikash fought his scowl; it wasn't completely Han's fault that he seemed to resemble Deryne more than ever before. A bald man with graying hair at the temples scurried over to them as they strode in. A buxom brunette followed him, her eyes sizing all three of them up.

"A room for me and my squire!" Rikash called out, voice sharp and brusque; in the week of hard riding they had perfected this act. Now came the real test; Proguer was a bustling crossroads town, where travelers and traders were always coming in and out. Their performance would keep them from the notice of any Scanran scouts who might be on the lookout for Malvyn. "And a hot bath!" He turned around the tavern floor, directing his voice throughout the room. "What need does anyone have for sending messages during this time of year?" he demanded in exasperation, dramatically flinging his arms about. The brunette was still standing with them. She smiled.

"You've had a hard ride, then, sir?" she asked sweetly. Rikash nodded, glowering.

"Nobody needs to know much until spring, anyhow! There's little point in going all the way up to the border, and all the way down, for _supply _orders!" His voice rose in outrage as she nodded in sympathy. "If they're need of supplies, now, the lot of them will be dead before anything can be sent!" He tugged off his riding gloves and shoved them at Damek. "Ride hard and fast they say- I think I'll take a respite, now and then, from running madly 'bout like a lapdog!" He sneered as he looked back at Damek. "Tell Bryn not to start feeding my stallion hay from the stable floors, like last time. Simple-headed fool!" he muttered, shaking his head. "And bring my bags upstairs."

"Yessir." Damek watched as Rikash stalked off towards the bar, head held high as the attractive woman followed him with a simpering smile, and sighed to himself. Whether it was all an act or not, this high-mannered ness was beginning to annoy him. And that woman- with her swaying hips- well, that just irked him, the way she seemed ready to hang all over Rikash; the last complication they needed was a serving maid who couldn't keep her hands to herself. If they weren't careful, she could easily figure out something was wrong. He made his way down to the stables, where Han was unsaddling the horses.

"Hello, _Bryn_," he said, putting emphasis on the false name as he rolled his eyes. "The master wants you to be a good servant and feed his horse properly." Han's lips twitched.

"Is he getting to you?" he asked.

"Yessir, nossir, three bags full, sir." Damek shook his head. "No, not at all." His heavy sarcasm made Han chuckle.

"You sound like Deryne." Han watched with interest as a grimace crossed the other youth's face, despite his attempts to hide it. "Something wrong?" Damek glanced away from the straightforward, good-humored eyes scrutinizing him intently.

"A mind reader," he said quietly. "You tell _me _what _isn't _wrong about that. It's unnatural." Han considered this slowly, then shrugged.

"Unusual, perhaps, but not-" Damek turned back to look at the older youth, brown eyes locking with his.

"I wouldn't expect _you _to agree with me," he said coolly as he picked up Rikash's bags and hauled them over his shoulder. A small smile crossed his lips as he whispered, "Earth-shaker." Han's eyebrows rose.

"So Numair let you know what you were walking into." Damek shrugged, then shook his head, not unfriendly.

"Only because I already knew."

"Cyne told you?" Han guessed, but Damek shook his head.

"I've always been able to sense magic," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "To feel a mage's strengths; it's part of my Gift." He gritted his teeth. "I feel Cyne's, too. All oceans and darkness; storms and rain-"

"Enough to send a goddess into Chaos," Han finished, watching Damek's surprise spread across his face. "Us unnatural ones have to stick together," he said, not without humor. "I would tell her whatever she wanted to know about my powers, and I'll tell you, too," he added. He cast a quick look around the empty stables before continuing. "I can make the earth shake; I can reach so deep into the earth and its seams that I can feel the barriers between the realms and how they shift." His eyes darkened. "And they've been moving," he said quietly. "Pulling and stretching and clashing; it means trouble. But I'm changing the subject." He shook his head, breaking the sudden solemnity abruptly. "I can make seeds into trees before your eyes, too. My green thumb, my father called it." He stretched, still watching Damek. "And the ground moves at my command, and speaks to me, at times. Did you know all that?" Damek shook his head.

"I wasn't prying," he said, sounding affronted. "But some powers… you might as well wear them on your sleeves. Like the fire mage." He jerked his head in the direction of the inn. "Every time he moves, speaks- all I can see are the flames." Han whistled lowly in sympathy.

"No wonder you've been blanching and rearing like a wild stallion," he muttered; he had wonder about Damek's odd behavior at times during their journey so far. Then he grinned. "He makes the rest of us jumpy as it is." Damek had to laugh with him. "Don't worry 'bout him; he's as harmless as a pup." His lips twisted; he didn't like to lie. "Most of the time." But Damek would not have to trouble himself about that; his shortest fuse, Deryne, was leagues away. For now.

* * *

They made a sight, the pair of them. Upon seeing the girls- young women, really- Kol was reminded of the stories his sister Bea used to whisper on stormy nights, of lovely immortals with hearts of ice, breathtaking queens lifted high up into the sky to sparkle for all of eternity, of Denmarie the Earth-shaker and Palawynn the Wave-walker, of whom legends whispered were goddesses born as mortals.

Of course, he had heard the stories about both of the lasses, rumors from courtiers and the sailors, who said they had never had a finer nor faster trip to the Isles with the Kyprian heir on board. And the other, the Tortallan, was always going in and out of the palace on urgent business, important enough to carry the King's seal on nearly every scroll she carried….

Neither was very tall; scrawny as he was, Kol was probably already about their height even though he was a few years younger, but they moved confidentially, heads held high as they surveyed the docks they crossed towards the ship. The first mate cuffed Kol on the back of the head, ordering him to stop gawking, but the boy stayed where he was.

There were two others, a boy and a girl, with the two he watched, but they seemed to fade next to their companions, even in the bright sunlight. In fact, he watched the girls so closely, Kol hardly noticed the graceful but small bird of prey which swept across the docks before flying up into the masts above his head.

The squire slipped in front of her Kyprian friend, eyeing the vessel warily before the princess behind her chuckled and poked her.

"I thought knights weren't afraid of anything," she laughed, sounding more like Kol's sister than the queen-to-be of the Isles.

"Ever heard of Alanna the Lioness?" the other one retorted as she continued walking. Her eyes were finely-shaped, cat-like and almond-shaped, and her figure, though muscled, swayed in the wind, more like a willow-wisp than a squire.

They came aboard, the squire first, then the redhead who had walked with them. Both scanned the deck, eyes passing over him, even though he was close enough to touch. Then the Kyprian princess took a step forward; her foot caught on the final rung of the plank between the ship and the dock. Before anyone else could move, Kol was there, catching her by the arm and gently steadying her.

"Easy, miss," he heard himself say. Then his gaze locked with hers, and he resisted the temptation to make the Sign Against Evil on his chest; brilliant, blue-green eyes stared into his, unnaturally iridescent even for someone not of her dark, golden complexion. He swallowed heavily, and a gloved hand swept him back: the squire. He glanced at her, only to be held transfixed again by the eyes of the girl he looked at; hard, icy gray-blue eyes that seemed to cut through him like the finest Raven Armory blade glared.

"It's fine, Deryne," the one with the sea eyes said. "He helped me. No harm done." She smiled at him. "Thank you." The squire- Deryne- was not finished looking at him.

"Hm," was all she said, one harsh, short syllable, before she turned away. "Can't be too careful," she said with a sigh. She smiled fleetingly at Kol. "Sorry about that." Kol ducked his head, unable to speak. The young man bringing up the rear still slipped on board behind the princess and put himself between her and Kol. His distrustful and unapologetic dark eyes scrutinized the boy for a moment before checking the rest of the ship before them.

Of course. The redhead and the boy were bodyguards. Kol had to smirk; he had still been able to sneak through and help her before either of them could blink.

He watched as the first mate dashed over, welcoming them and giving hasty directions to their cabin before he was off again, but none of the four seemed eager to start moving themselves. Kol cleared his throat quietly; Deryne turned towards him before the sound was out of his throat, almost as though she had known he was trying to get their attention before he tried. The princess and the youth shifted half a moment later.

"I'd gi' outta the way, if I was you," he muttered, unable to meet any of their stares. "Cap'n don't like it when the landlubbers are-" He shut up, fleetingly remembering that repeating the captain's exact words were probably insulting. He was shocked when the Kyprian heir laughed; he glanced up, astonished, and Deryne was exchanging a glance with her friend, her lip quivering with suppressed laughter while the other three were chuckling with degrees of amusement.

"Well," the squire drawled, eyes twinkling; he was surprised by how much more friendly she looked without the hard stare. "-I suppose us landlubbers best get below. 'Specially you, Cyne; we can't have you mucking around up here." The redhead snorted, then jerked her head to the side.

"Over there," she said, shaking her head; her fellow bodyguard was still laughing. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Move out, hyena-face."

Kol watched the four of them go, and a shiver raced down his spine as he watched the two dark-haired girls strolling away; they were similar, in many ways. Neither had the pale complexion of mainlanders; the squire had creamy skin, skin that reminded him of the Yamani traders he had seen in Caynn. Both had hair that was either black or too dark to tell the difference, even though the Kyprian's was silky and straight, while Deryne's reminded him of a bird's nest, all bunched up and wavy. But their eyes-

Maybe they weren't the same color. Maybe they weren't the same size or shape; one's were elegant and narrow, the other's wide and delicate. But their eyes were _exactly _the same.

* * *

Damek sat uneasily in the tavern part of the inn, watching from across the table as Rikash downed a pint of ale and began to eat heartily; Damek knew his "knight master" hadn't really drank so much- Rikash usually burned it into oblivion before it could touch his lips. It still made Damek nervous; what if his companion really _was _drinking? He had already had two mugs…. He shook his head when the innkeeper came back around with the pitcher. Rikash shot him a glare.

"You're not helping my reputation," he hissed, cheeks flushed. Hoping the convincingly realistic act _was _an act, Damek rolled his eyes, picking at the meat on his plate.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, wishing Han could be there. Alas, servants didn't usually eat with their masters. At least that meant that the all-too helpful maid could not use this time to try to be more cozy with the "knight." Damek grimaced as he remembered opening the door to deliver the baggage but instead ended up rescuing the other youth from an embarrassing situation…. Rikash shook his head.

"What did you find out about Malvyn's people?" he muttered, casting a glance around the room as he gulped down a biscuit. Damek shrugged.

"There have been a few who have been staying _at _the inn for a week or so, but I'd wager that if he's got any spies or lookouts, they're among the staff." Rikash swore, startling the other youth.

"Did you lock the door to the room?" he hissed, eyes flashing across the room. "There _was_ that maid, earlier-" Damek swore, leaping up from his seat. Rikash was a moment behind him; heads turned as the two bolted to the stairs, leaping up them two at a time.

The door _was _unlocked when they entered, scanning the room for disturbances.

"I knew she was too interested in you," Damek muttered, and Rikash shuddered. "Find her. Now. _Carefully._ Don't draw any attention." He reached for the saddlebag with the speaking stone; anyone could have opened the bag, seen the stone, and cinched the straps again. Rikash snorted.

"A speaking stone isn't _too _suspicious," he said shortly as he headed for the door. "But anyone on close inspection is going to wonder about what we _don't _have." Damek ducked his head to avoid Rikash's heated glare, then grimaced as the fire mage left; both of them had a sword for appearance's sake, but they did not have enough armor and weapons between them to _really _be a knight and his squire.

"And Heolstor's probably ordered everyone scouting to look out for those two," he muttered to himself. At least Deryne and Cyne were not with them; Numair had been right to split them up. Together, they attracted too much attention. He groaned, rubbing his temples. They weren't even sure anyone _had _entered….

But Rikash and Han came back ten minutes later to report that the girl was gone. Nobody knew where she had gone; it was as though she had disappeared into thin air….

"Or that she went to report to Malvyn," Rikash hissed, shooting Damek a look that made the Kyprian flinch, try as he did to ignore it. Rikash snorted disdainfully before kicking his bag.

"We're leaving," he said sharply. "I don't care how bad it looks; we can't stick around now." Han nodded, face grim. "Maybe we're overreacting. But I'd rather camp in a sinkhole than sleep here if word gets to Malvyn."

"He'll know we're coming, either way," Han said, shrugging. Rikash's jaw set.

"But he won't know where we are. Not if I can help it."

* * *

Deryne suspected Cyne had something to do with the good time made by the ships sailing the delegations north, especially when early spring was a time of storms along the coast; the days were cold but clear, and the captain of their ship, the _Aurora_, was very pleased with himself. He could be heard trumpeting their day's gain and bragging about the tight ship he ran. Merle was ready to tear his eyes out, but Deryne and Cyne had convinced her it would be too much of a mess and fuss to bother with. Brand, on the other hand, egged her on, asking whether she would be using her fingers or her claws to inflict punishment.

"_See_," Deryne pointed out, slinging an arm around the redhead. "_Brand _thinks it's a _good _idea." Merle scowled, then sighed.

"-which means it's a horrible idea." Cyne laughed as Brand feigned hurt.

"Careful what you say to those who are bigger than you," he warned. "I could lift you up and toss you over the side." Merle snorted, crossing her arms.

"You could not," she challenged, leaning against the ship's railing. Brand waggled his eyebrows at him, then took a threatening step forwards. She looked at her fingernails. "Cyne would just lift me back out again." Slipping away from the two, Deryne sneaked over to where Cyne stood and whispered in her ear. The other girl stiffened, then put a hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling. Then Deryne leaned away, a small smirk twisting the corners of her lips. Then Brand lunged, grabbing his friend, who shrieked, trying to escape, but the boy lifted her up, one arm around her waist and the other around her legs as he leaned over the side-

Then, with a solemn nod at Deryne, Cyne twirled her fingers, and a small wave broke over the side out of nowhere, spraying both Brand and Merle. With a yelp, Brand retreated, instinctively pulling his captive closer. Deryne winked at Merle, who turned beat-red, stuck in Brand's arms.

"Lemme go!" she snapped, pounding her fists against his chest, and he complied instantly; when he dropped her, she lost her balance and he had to grab her again to steady her. If it were possible, Merle would have turned redder. He patted her on the shoulder.

"You all right, hatchling?" he drawled, shaking his wet hair out of his face. She did not deign to answer, or even to turn towards him; she settled for shooting a dark glare at the two girls to the side, who were trying not to smile. Then Deryne leaned in to whisper to Cyne.

"She'll thank us later." Then both of them burst to laughter, clutching their stomachs as they leaned up against the railing. "I didn't think she'd ever be swept off her feet so easily," the Tortallan choked out to Merle's chagrin and Brand's bemusement, before she collapsed into giggles.


	8. Chapter 7: Peace Before the Storm

AN: Thanks to all my readers and reviewers for being so patient with me... I'll be writing longer chapters soon... and more quickly... As the title says, this is the peace before the storm... a very _long _storm... ;D

So thank you, **Shang Leopard**, **SarahE7191**, **Alliekat1996**, **Dragonfly257**, and my beta, **KyrieofAccender**- reviews are very encouraging...

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

_Peace Before the Storm_

When Deryne emerged from below, at eventide, Cyne was already standing out on the deck, gazing out at the fiery colors cast across the undulating water; the squire did not disturb her- she sensed that the other girl needed some quiet, as did she. Crossing to the starboard side, she leaned out against the ship's railing, fiddling absent-mindedly with the chain around her neck until her fingers curled around the pendant: a birth-control charm. She chuckled to herself as she remembered how her mother, the Lady Yuki, had given to her secretly before Deryne had left Corus.

"Not that I approve your using it," she had warned with a frown, eyeing Deryne's father, who had been busy speaking with Master Numair. "But I give it to you with two pieces of advice- one, keep it on for _my _peace of mind…." The corners of her eyes crinkled, giving her amusement away to her daughter. "-and two, don't let your father see it." Even now, Deryne snickered, shaking her head at the absurdity of the whole situation; she could only imagine how her father, Sir Nealan of Queenscove, would react if he saw it. Still, if such a silly little thing eased her mother's unnecessary worries, she was more than glad to wear it.

Duskwing swept out of the masts of the ship, soaring over Deryne's head as she gazed out at the coast to fly on the wind. She smiled, shading her eyes from the setting sun as she watched the kestrel swooping and gliding.

_You are more at peace than you've been… in some time, _the Chamber told her. Deryne shrugged.

"You probably have Merle and Brand to thank for that," she muttered, trying not to draw attention to herself. It was true; their light-hearted banter brought back the pleasant memories of Pirate's Swoop, and the days that she had spent there… in the sun and the sand, the ocean and the wind. Now, as she stared out at the scarlets and pinks of the sky, she could even dwell upon those last, fleeting days of friendship with Rikash without feeling her guts twist. They had been somewhat estranged, even then… but nothing had been wrecked beyond repair until they had tried that _spell_… and then the fight began and never ended.

_You feel more like yourself. _It sounded almost pleased. _You haven't had the heart for that sort of mischief in many a month. _The Chamber was referring to the wave she had talked Cyne into soaking her two friends. _You haven't laughed so hard since Duskwing attacked your conservative friend. _Deryne snorted.

"You've been keeping track?" she queried. "And you _do _mean that _you _attacked Laun."

_Mortals. _The Chamber was disgusted with her. Again. She ducked her head to hide a smile. _You can't hide your emotions from _me_, chit. And no, I meant Duskwing- Frejonak sent him to guard you, and he has. Your god only convinced me to protect you after he came in with dramatic airs to warn you himself. _Deryne stiffened, craning her neck to stare up at the bird; perhaps the Chamber had hinted about its duties as a guardian before, but she could not recall it ever stating this so plainly. _Yes, Frejonak came to me, because he knew I was the only one left who could help you. _Deryne raised her eyebrows.

"Only one left of _what?_" she asked. "Or _who?_" There was no answer; she rolled her eyes. "Cheater; it isn't fair that you can leap out of the conversation the moment things get too hot for you."

_I am here to ensure, as you say, that _things _don't get too hot for you_, it retorted disdainfully. _Especially now, that a storm's on the horizon. At least you have some peace before it comes. _

"Careful- before you know it, you'll turn nursemaid." She shook her head, a wry smile playing across her lips as she chuckled to herself. "Listening to all my hopes and fears and baking sweets to make me happy."

_Some dreams are destined to disappoint, _the Chamber said tartly, and Deryne laughed, ignoring the odd look one of the hands on deck gave her.

"I can always hope," she drawled, turning north to view their course ahead. Her chuckles stopped as her eyes caught sight of darkness creeping across the sky, too swift to be merely the play of shadows across the sea and the air above it. She inhaled deeply, sending _gudruna _soaring forth over the waves and looping backwards to her to confirm her suspicions. She cocked an eyebrow up at her kestrel, who came diving down to land on the ship railing by her elbow. "And here I thought you meant a metaphorical storm." She smiled, shaking her head as an ominous, harsh wind sent her hair streaming back behind her. She ran her fingers through Duskwing's soft feathers. "But I doubt I'll be getting much peace before this one hits," she added, turning away to find Cyne as her _gudruna _sped once more towards the black clouds.

* * *

They were nearing the next town; Han and Damek were trying to convince their stubborn companion that sleeping in an inn would be the best course of action, Scanran spies or not. Rikash protested vehemently.

"The snow's melted away a bit from the roads, but there's still ice and mud," Han pointed out, gesturing to the path they rode upon. "And a warm bed inside is better than camping out in this."

"You know quite well how formidable Malvyn can be," Rikash told Han tartly. "Especially when he catches you sleeping." Then he turned on Damek. "And you wouldn't stand a fledgling's chance against him."

"But he's probably not here, anyway," Damek pointed out, ignoring the jab. "He'd have to send lackeys out for us."

"Malvyn knows no damned band of goons could stop us," Rikash said darkly. "He knows me and Han _quite well_." He spat out the last two words acidly. Han tuned out Rikash's grumbling, turning his ears to the sounds of the forest around them. The two of them would have a little chat, as soon was possible; Damek did not deserve the kind of abuse Rikash seemed determined to deal out hourly.

"It'll be _cold_," the Kyprian argued. Han closed his eyes; there was a dusk wind, one that blew floury snow from its resting place and almost masked the soft crunch of snow underfoot from the wood around them…. "I don't want-" Then the earth seized Han, wresting the attention left to Rikash and Damek away as the frozen dirt pulsed, sending the echoes of footsteps thundering through the youth's mind.

"Ri!" he shouted, sending his hands down towards the ground; around them, the shadowy figures of men burst from the trees. Several sent mage fire towards them, but Han was already a step ahead of them; the ground on the road surrounding the three youths shot upwards, forming a barrier between them and their attackers, which gave them each enough time to calm their panicking mounts.

"Let me deal with this," Rikash muttered. Han locked gazes with his friend; both of them knew exactly what would happen if the fire-mage handled this.

"Or we could wait for them to grow tired to waiting," Han suggested, already knowing his friend's response. "They won't get through this-" He reached a hand out to stroke the earthen wall around them. "Anytime soon." Rikash snorted, pointing skyward.

"How long before they get a mage strong enough to fly up there and attack us from above?" he demanded.

"Not many mages can do that," Han replied mildly, gazing up at the darkening patch of sky. Damek shuddered.

"I feel like I'm standing in my grave," he muttered. Rikash shot him a murderous glare. "But I'd rather that than _actually _have need for a grave if Han lets the earth go back where it belongs." Rikash rolled his eyes disdainfully.

"Mages or no, there won't be anything left of them to fight me," he retorted, turning back to Han. "_But _the longer we wait, the more time for them to send word to Malvyn; _that _is the only danger we're in right now." When Han remained silent, he pressed on. "They aren't going away, Han- they might as well have captured us, holed up-" He glanced around him again. "-as we are." Han's lips twitched.

"Is this that sense of humor Deryne was once telling me about?" he asked dryly. "I didn't think it was really there, up 'til now." Rikash's smile was strained.

"Gallows humor, they call it," he answered. "Deryne's even worse." Dropping his reins, he clenched his fists tightly. Damek started when flames roared to life, enveloping his hands. A grin slid across Rikash's face; in the firelight, his eyes gleamed maniacally. "Now, Han."

Damek was surprised how quickly Han gave in; the youth sighed and lowered his head. Then the earth crashed back into place, shaking the ground they stood on and alarming the few mages that had been closely examining the wall.

But that sudden display of Han's power was quickly outdone by his fellow adept. The mages had recovered quickly- one shot a spell at Damek, who began to voice a shield spell.

But he hadn't needed to bother; even as the red Gift streamed towards him, fire exploded from Rikash, gripping the spell in a death hold as it followed the current of magic back to its initiator. One moment, the man was there, eyes widening in horror; the next, he was only a spark in the wall of flames that consumed their attackers.

"Ri!" Han bellowed, and Damek turned back to their fiery companion; although his horse reared, eyes rolling, Rikash sat astride the beast, eyes blazing as the fire raced up his arms, across his body-

Then Han was at his side, hand wrapped in a cloth as he grabbed his friend by the arm and yanked him off his mount before retreating warily; he dropped the burnt rag on the ground and stepped on it, grinding the flames to dust. Damek could only stare; everything had happened so fast. He hadn't even seen Han leave his horse.

The fires were out the moment Rikash hit the ground. He sat, observing their charred surroundings grimly.

"My greetings to Malvyn," he muttered, spitting on the ground. Then he took the hand Han offered to pull him back up onto his feet. Damek took a hesitant sniff of the air around them; there was no burning smell, no horrible stench of blackened remains; there _were _no remains. Rikash had blasted them into oblivion, so swiftly that there was not even a smell to betray the terror their enemies suffered before passing on into the Black God's realm. The Kyprian made the Sign against his chest.

"Sorry about the spill at the end," Han said brusquely, clapping the fire-mage on the back. "I couldn't snap you out of it, and you were about to torch poor Nimbus." Rikash looked over at his horse, who eyed him distrustfully from a distance, and sighed.

"I might not be able to ride him until Ma talks to him again," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He grimaced as he turned back to Han. "Can-"

"I'll ride Nimbus; you take Dia," Han replied instantly, saving his friend the ordeal of asking, and Rikash nodded gratefully. "I suppose you decided to magic your clothes, after last time?" Rikash shrugged, looking down at his unscorched shirt.

"It saves time, money, and humiliation," he replied shortly. Then he frowned. "Who told you about last time?" Han smiled slightly.

"Deryne. Who else?" He chuckled when Rikash rolled his eyes.

"Is there anything she _hasn't _told you?" he asked dryly. Han raised a eyebrow.

"I dunno- you tell _me_." Rikash grinned, stretching his arms out.

"Then I'd give away _all _my secrets- even the few she hasn't dared to reveal," he laughed, shaking his head. His hand flexed, and the flames ran across his fingers like water before they disappeared again. He glanced down, an almost fond look in his eyes as the firelight danced in them. "We'd best take a night in town; they won't be looking for us for another few days," he added, smugness sneaking into his words. Damek's eyes widened.

"You just _killed _all those men," he snapped. Rikash and Han started; had they forgotten him? "In the Isles, we don't take that lightly." Fists clenching, Rikash glared back at the Kyprian.

"They would have killed us, or worse," he retorted. "Be grateful I've burnt them out of the world, and Malvyn won't find them." He cast a look across the path, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Because there's _nothing_ left," he said coldly. Han looked back and forth between his two comrades, frowning; he could tell, by the tense set of his shoulders, that Rikash was feeling more guilty- more horrified- than he would ever admit.

Numair's three students had slain leagues of Shadows, but these had been men… men who had attacked for a reason, whatever it was, and not only because the Queen of Chaos had decreed it. Han felt sick and Damek clearly was feeling ill, too.

"We should keep going," Rikash said briskly, shaking his head. "Get distance between here and us."

"I don't care what you do," Damek snapped. "But I'm sleeping in the gods-damned inn and if Malvyn catches me, it'll be safer than staying with you!" Rikash's eyes flashed, but Han gripped his shoulder, keeping him quiet as Damek wheeled his horse around towards town, and headed off at a gallop.

"Coward!" Rikash snapped as the pounding of hooves receded. He tossed Han's hand away and strode towards Dia. "Does he think that was damned well _easy?_" As he approached the horse, he changed his mind and strode back towards Han. "_Does he?_" Han made himself look into Rikash's wild eyes.

"He's feeling a little overwhelmed," he said tiredly, resisting the urge to put his face in his hands. "Damn, Ri, I'm feeling it, too." He waved a hand around at the ashes, then flexed a hand; the ground sucked the black grit into the soil, hiding the last bits of evidence as it welcomed the vitality in its chilly, winter embrace. Rikash let out a slow breath. "I'll talk with him in the morning." He had thought he would have a break from mediation when they left Deryne, but Rikash had an uncanny talent for keeping his friend's hands full. "But _you _have to stop treating him so that he's tempted to run off or choke you with his bare hands." Rikash snorted.

"A boy who can't look at his lady love without flinching couldn't be able to kill me if he _wanted _to." He shook his head, eyes narrowed in disgust as he pursued that trail of thought. "He's a fool- why bother trying if he can't love her without cringing?"

"You aren't one to talk," Han replied patiently. Rikash cocked an eyebrow, daring him to elaborate. "Not when you two are so alike." Rikash snorted.

"In what way?" he asked dubiously, eyes looking skyward. Han shrugged.

"Cyne's magic frightens Damek. He lets it get in the way of everything else; he can't help it, when it's such a big part o' her."

"Coward," Rikash concluded again.

"What _could_ he do?" Han wanted to know, a curious gleam in his eye. "Knowing the power she wields and fearing it… but loving _her_, all the same?"

"He could ignore it. _I _would." Han raised his eyebrows. Did he _really _have to point out the obvious? Didn't Damek's problems ring a bell in Rikash's mind? Han had seen the connection almost instantly and he was going to _make _his friend see it; Damek deserved respect, even more so than the youth who refused to give it to him.

"So he acts like a pup with its tail between its legs," the earth-mage allowed. "He can't help who he loves, even if she's scary. We're all scary, Ri- but even though he's not one of us, he's _here_." Han shot Rikash a meaningful look. "He can't burn a man to a cinder or summon tidal waves or cause a quake, but he gets along with Cyne well enough." He met Rikash's amber gaze steadily, ready to end his lecture. "So you shouldn't be looking down your nose at him when _you _act like a skittish yearling around Deryne." Rikash's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"I do _n_-" He choked. For several moments, he half-coughed, half-gagged, tripping on whatever stuttering words first came to his lips. Han waited until his friend was finished sputtering to hear what he had to say.

"I'm not a horse!" the fire mage finally squawked. Han raised an eyebrow; _surely _Rikash knew that wasn't the point. "And Deryne-" He swallowed, eyes wide with alarm; Han didn't need Deryne there to tell him that Rikash's mind was spinning from one implication to another. "She's _nothing _like Cyne! And Cyne and Damek-" He blanched. "I- we don't- she-me and Deryne…." He trailed off feebly, shaking his head vigorously. "We _aren't_ like that," he finished, voice stronger. But that wasn't Han's point, either. Not really.

"But you two are still… well, fire and wind," Han pointed out. "The wind either chokes or enrages the flame. _You _want to be friends with her, but _you_ treat her like a fire-breathing hurrok. Gods, you might _prefer _the beast to her." He let his words sink in for a moment, noticing that Rikash was struggling to remain calm; his jaw was clenched, his pursed lips almost white. "And _you _two_ are _on an equal footing, unlike Damek and Cyne, but she still frightens you more than Cyne does Damek; he might need to wrap his head around Cyne's powers, but he's doing a better job of it than you are." He stared his friend down, challenging him to dispute with his reasoning. And Rikash, being the hot-headed young man he was, rose to the occasion.

"I'm not _frightened_," Rikash protested, loud with indignation as he crossed his arms. "And we get on well enough, thank you." Still, as he walked away, his stricken face- mouth partly open, eyes stunned- made Han feel that he couldn't have shocked his friend more if he had hit him with a market cart. The earth-shaker allowed himself a small smile as both young men swung up into the saddle.

Rikash wouldn't trouble Damek again. The older youth was certain of that.

* * *

As the two Chosen moved on, a figure in the trees snapped his fingers; the crystal in his hands shone, casting a pearly glow against his white skin. His teeth flashed in a fierce grin as he spoke, his dark eyes bottomless pits that absorbed all traces of light around him.

"They _are _powerful," he declared softly. "Merciless... and _far _stronger than the last ones we found. In fact, Great One, I would say they are the ones we've been searching for...." He raised the crystal to study its shimmering facets. "After all this time," he mused as a hint of life- of wild excitement- emerged from his empty gaze. "We will raise our armies... and victory shall finally be _ours_."

* * *

_AN: *snicker* Oh Han.... poor guy- he's Rikash's comrade, conscience, and anger-management counselor all rolled into one. At least he doesn't mind... heck, he even has fun sometimes.... :P Comments, anyone? I do love reviews.  
_


	9. Chapter 8: Maelstrom

**AN: Man! This was the Chapter That Could Not Be Finished- first I was helping my sister work on her shooting, then I was sick and sleeping all day, then I had to take care of my little cousin-!**

**I'm sorry that there isn't much happening... that's why I tossed the storm in.... But the real action and stuff begins in the next chapter, when we finally reach Scanra! Thanks to my reviewers- _Alliekat1996_, _Shang Leopard_, _Cymru na Alethaira_, _SarahE7191_, _Dragonfly257_, _Eternityfalls (telling you who the mystery man is would be no fun! And, yes, I do love Han's smack-down! ;D)_, and _KyrieofAccender_, my beta!**

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

_The Maelstrom_

Deryne's braid flew up and around her in the gusts that heralded the coming storm; in the little light left in the sky, she could see the blackness of the clouds- not gray, but black, rushing towards them despite her cautious probes into the storm and the winds controlling it; Numair had always warned her that weather magic was tricky, and the squire was opting to let Cyne work with this dark wave from the sky.

Now, Cyne was reaching towards the storm with her magic; Merle and Brand stood on either side of her protectively, effectively warding off the hovering captain, while she stared into the water. She had been confident when the captain had asked her if she could tame this storm, but something about the winds that raced past her was nagging at Deryne; the _gudruna _were harsh and strong, damp with the scent of rain and a twinge of-

Deryne blinked as she recognized the taste of magic stored in the maelstrom, then swore. No wonder she couldn't redirect the gales bringing the storm to them; someone was controlling this, and the girl would bet every last copper she had that she knew who was behind this-

"Cyne!" She shook the girl's shoulder. Merle grabbed Deryne's arm.

"Not now," she hissed as Cyne started. "Don't break her concentration-"

The ship dipped suddenly, sending all the crew and passengers on deck flying sideways; Deryne jerked a hand out as she stumbled forwards, solidifying the air in front of them for a brief second to keep anyone from tumbling down into the waves. As she banished the temporary barrier, water sloshed over the side, soaking her breeches. Merle clutched Cyne by the arm, steadying her. Both girls were drenched with sea water, but Cyne didn't seem to notice; she met Deryne's gaze, eyes panicked, and the squire gave a quick, grim nod.

"What is it?" Brand looked from one to the other, and Cyne sighed wearily, tucking her dripping hair behind her ears.

"There's magic in that storm," she said, eyes narrowing as she turned back to the darkness. Deryne stared at the advancing assault; "I don't know whether it's meant to sink us-"

"-or test us," Deryne added darkly as she remembered the first time they had seen Malvyn. Though she had not known it until many years later, the mage had staged the kidnapping to test them both… to see if they were the "Chosen" ones he had been searching for. Cyne's startled eyes flew back to lock with Deryne's gaze; from the alarmed glint of understanding in her gaze, she remembered, too.

"But he _knows_," she whispered, checking that none were in earshot but her guards furtively. "He _tested _us." Deryne shrugged.

"This seems a bit more formidable than being chained to a wall with a band of Stormwings after your blood, if you ask me," she remarked dryly, aware of the absurdity of her comment. Cyne raised an eyebrow and smiled, but did not argue with the Tortallan's logic. "I can't redirect it," the squire admitted, and Cyne bit her lip in thought. Her bright eyes scanned their surroundings, her brow furrowed.

"And I can't do anything to change the natural course, either," she replied. Her eyes narrowed as she frowned. "There _is _one possibility…." Her jaw flexed. Merle, Brand, and Deryne looked on in puzzlement as their friend clenched the railing of the ship and glared into the torrents of rain making their way across the ocean towards them.

"What?" Cyne shook her head.

"I haven't tried anything like it," she said quietly, turning back to them with a wary look at the captain, who was becoming more agitated by the moment. Helplessly, she turned to gaze back at the storm before them. Deryne flinched as lightening streaked across her vision, and the thunder clapped in her ear like a dagger stabbing her mind. She quickly blocked out the _gudruna _before another sound could penetrate like that again. "Malvyn- it must be what he's trying to get me to do, but I-" A sigh escaped her, then she drew herself back up resolutely. She looked sharply at the captain and nodded.

"Your men should be prepared to sail quickly, as fast as is possible," she directed, voice projecting over the ominous rumbling and the waves slapping the wood of the ship. "Prepared as though the best weather and winds are before you." She turned to Deryne. "You need to send the ship through," she hissed. "Gales, straight north." Deryne's brow furrowed.

"What are you planning?" Merle demanded. Cyne's lips twitched as she turned back to the violent spectacle before them; as the clouds raced towards them, growing larger and larger as they neared, lightening crackled across the sky, enraging the waves that rocked the ship to and fro. Men began to mutter among themselves, making the Sign against their chests.

"I'm going to consume the storm," she said softly. Her three friends stared at her. "Just part of it; the part the ship is in. I'm going to clear a path for us to sail through." _Just part of it? _Deryne glanced behind them; there were three ships in total, and she could not tell how much ocean this monster of the elements spanned.

"Can you _do _that?" she asked lowly. Cyne shrugged. Merle glowered.

"You fought Kypria," Brand whispered uncertainly. "What's so different?" Deryne and Cyne exchanged a dark glance.

"I'm going to start," Cyne told them, turning back to the task lying before her, her voice noticeably nonchalant. "Deryne, you'll have to watch out for complications, and hurry the ships through; I don't know how long I'll be able to hold on." Merle and Brand did not like the sound of that, but they silently let her pass before glaring at Deryne.

"What's so different?" Brand repeated, eyes narrowed. Deryne sighed, reaching a hand back to fiddle with her braid. Why did Cyne saddle _her _with the explanation? Deryne suspected that her friend did not dare elaborate, for fear of Brand and Merle talking her out of it. The squire had an inkling of the caliber of magic the Kyprian princess mentioned, and she did not like the sound of it. Not with what she sensed on the wind.

"This isn't Gift we're talking about," she whispered. "Or wild magic." She knew the taste of both in her _gudruna_. Merle's eyes widened.

"So if it isn't either of those…?" she prompted quietly, glancing around them once more. Deryne grimaced.

"I think I know," she admitted softly. There was a familiar taint to it, one that put her in mind of a wild whirlpool of colors with no beginning or end, with a taste of hate and fury and deception…. "But I hope to the Gods I'm wrong."

* * *

On his father's orders, Cadel was looking for his sister, Vanora; on a hunch, he asked one of the older pages where Prince Leoraed was. He was directed to the library, where he did, indeed, find the heir to the Tortallan throne speaking to his little sister. They were laughing, and Cadel shook his head ruefully. His sister was only fourteen, but she had been a dainty, pretty lady since she was only five or six; he often wondered- amused- how his mother, Lady Keladry of Broakhale, could have given birth to such a delicate flower, but although Nora was small, she was still formidable in her own way; she knew how to use a glaive and bullied Deryne into wearing traditional women's attire whenever she could. In a few years, she planned to ask the queen if she could become one of Her Majesty's Ladies; Shinkokami's ladies-in-waiting had to grace the ballroom floors… but they also had to be ready to defend their queen if there ever was a need. Cadel was confident that Nora would be accepted into their ranks; she had already joined her mother in the morning glaive duels the queen had with her closest friends, and she was proper enough to befuddle him with court etiquette on numerous occasions.

And he suspected that Leo was very aware of what a lady Nora was… _very _aware.

Leo was only fifteen himself; his knight master had intended to take him south, but with Scanra's suspicious behavior and word of Malvyn, a traitor to the Crown, King Roald had ordered his son to remain in Corus for the time being; he had even called upon _his _father, the old king, Jonathon, and his wife Thayet to return to court. His Majesty obviously wanted to keep everyone close and ready for whatever Scanra had planned.

"Nora?" His sister started guilty; her wide, blue eyes caught sight of her brother and she relaxed slightly. Cadel had to suppress a laugh when he saw Leo's sheepish smile. "Ma had to leave, and Da got stuck with Cor." Nora smirked; she knew as well as he did what a pitiful sight their father was when stuck with their younger sister. Corine had her father wrapped around her little finger… and that often caused more trouble than a flying orangutan in a marketplace.

"Guess that's my cue to leave," she sighed, smiling at Leo before she curtsied. Cadel was intrigued by the way Leo blanched at her curtsy before she turned and walked out past her brother. He raised an eyebrow at the prince.

"You haven't broken her of that yet, Leo?" he queried, approaching the squire. Leo made a face.

"She does it to annoy me," he muttered darkly. "She'll sneak up behind me and tell me a squire should have better hearing with the impudence of a little sister, and _then _she'll up and do something like that." Cadel chuckled.

"She's a riddle," he agreed, thinking of the last time he had dueled with a glaive against her; he had been more rusty than he had thought he would have been, and had ended up making a novice mistake with which Nora had defeated him. She had been kind enough not to mention it to anyone… yet. A faint smile slid across the prince's face.

"Yes, she is. And you _know _how well I can read people," he said absently. If it had been anyone else, Cadel would have called out his immodesty, but with Leo, the statement was an unassuming fact, simply stated and true. "She's a very interesting person; she'll rise high in the court, even without your family's standing." A grin ghosted the knight's face.

Deryne had been teasing Nora about Leo since the two of them had first met; maybe the running joke had more truth in it than Cadel had first thought. Perhaps, for once, when his cousin returned, _he_ would be the one with news.

* * *

Cyne slipped into the heart of the storm easily; her power came from the rain and the sea, from the dew of the clouds and the waves that sought to seize their vessel and drag it down into the depths. Closing her eyes, she summoned her magic and reached out to the strength of the water before her, around her… and began to draw it inside her magic, inside of _her_.

But it wasn't just the water she brought with her- there was a fire, too, a chaos of lights that insisted the hurricane stay on the course the fire had chosen.

_No, _Cyne whispered to the clouds. _You come with _me. This was her domain; no one but the Wavewalker was stronger here….

And the Wavewalker did not want her to die.

Slowly, the storm came to her fingertips, but the fire refused to leave it as Cyne reeled the unruly blackness deep inside her; it bit at her, gripped her as obstinately as she grasped the water imperiling them….

She sucked in a harsh breath as the fire of chaos snarled, but she continued, feeling the path their ships had to take… clearing the way until, at last, she reached the far edge of the nightmare, and the clouds finally broke to reveal the starry sky.

The flames hissed their fury at her success, but the battle had not been won yet; the ships had not even begun their sojourn through the chasm of fair weather Cyne had wrought. As they entered the canyon, walled in by the magical storm, the magic rushed over the girl, trying to overwhelm her, but she would not give in.

Fists clenched, blood draining from her face, Cyne widened the passageway through the storm…

And _held.

* * *

  
_

Deryne's face was almost as ashen as Cyne's as she urged wild gales to move the ships through the channel; she understood why the crews- of all three ships- were so silent. The captains had had to threaten the crack of the whip before they could stop staring.

The storm had been almost upon them; Deryne could see the raindrops on the ocean's surface when Cyne's spell began.

A bluish-green glow had grown around her, a mist of eerie light that reached up to the black clouds and shot a straight path through the rain and the lightening before dividing the clouds in two, leaving a narrow passage through the storm, a canyon with rain and hail and bolts of fire and light as walls.

It had taken several sharp orders from Sir Alan and Aly- who had both finally come on deck to find out what had happened to their wayward charges- to get the men moving; it was with trepidation that they followed the course Cyne had set, and with more unease that they accepted the fierce winds that filled the sails. Deryne felt chills race up her spine at the violent storm clashing with the waves cresting on either side of her; if she had reached out, she would have felt the rain pounding down on the sea. She listened to the howl of the gales, the crash of the gyrating ocean, and the gentle lapping of the still water against the prow of the ship, and tried not to shudder.

Cyne was paler than Deryne had thought a Kyprian could be; the light of her magic made her skin look blue… as though she was drowning in the storm she had consumed. Sir Alan had brought several coats to warm her, but Deryne suspected the coldness her friend felt was not from the outside elements.

"She'll release it, the moment we're out?" Brand asked softly, hardly daring to break the silence. Deryne bit her lip; another gale shoved the ships onwards. She did not want to think about the answer; it made her wonder if the storm's magic would let _Cyne _go….

_Protect her, Frejonak, _she thought to herself. _Yama, Wavewalker… keep her safe. _She did not want to consider what would happen if they did not. The constant draining of her magic wore down on her despite the simplicity of the task; her throat burned, and her lips cracked as she bit down on them. It seemed to go on, and on forever… how could Cyne hold this?

"Ma'am?" Circles under her eyes, she turned to see the youth who had helped Cyne early, the one she had used her magic to feel out his intentions- earnest and harmless. She had heard the captain call him Kol before….

He held out a water skein, and she smiled wearily as she accepted it, hand brushing his as she took it and held it to her lips. Cool water poured down her throat, easing the ache and refreshing her efforts; she was surprised, in fact, by her sudden regain of strength. When she was finished with the water skein, she handed it back to the ship hand and gave him a real grin.

"Thanks," she said hoarsely, then coughed. Kol nodded, then glanced over at Cyne, who was swaying dangerously close to the end.

"D'you think she needs a bit herself?" he asked, hefting the skein. Deryne eyed her friend for a moment, then shook her head.

"I think she's got enough water in her already," she murmured wryly, noting how unaffected the boy seemed by the unnatural phenomena surrounding him. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, then he bowed his head.

"As you say, ma'am." He looked upwards and smiled. "We're almost through, thanks to you." Startled, Deryne turned to survey the storm; their ship, the lead one, had broken free of the storm, which was receding even as the second ship sailed out of the gales- her gusts had been even stronger than she could have hoped- the water really _had _revitalized her power. Deryne held her breath as the final ship of the delegations appeared, and a silly smile spread across her face. She sagged in relief, winking at Kol.

"All thanks to you," she chuckled, thanking the gods for their escape. Her thoughts were too soon. A sharp cry tore from Cyne's lips; Merle and Brand staggered as they caught her as she fell, convulsing. Deryne was at her side in a moment, followed closely behind by Aly; without thinking, she eased herself into the Kyprian's mind, but before she could listen in, flames of magenta and green and blue lashed out at her, forcing her back. She collapsed in a heap next to her friend, gasping for air; she would recognize Uuasoae's bite anywhere.

She did not have the strength for this, not now, after the gales… and Cyne was trapped by the magic of the storm, unable to release it after she had consumed it. The squire watched in alarm as the princess moaned softly, shaking uncontrollably, her head jerking this way and that; she was getting weaker, by the moment-

Deryne _almost _tried to call upon Rikash, then, for magical help; he was the only mage close enough to her for her to be able to reach out over such a distance and find him. He was the only one she had ever _really _established a mental connection with; try as either of them might, they could not sever the tie. He was the only one that could _possibly _send her power… but he was also the last person on the earth she could, would, ask.

She clenched Cyne's hand, trying to lend strength to her, but the Chaos fire blocked her at every turn, feeding off of her feeble attempts; Deryne had very little healing training, and nothing like this….

Perhaps Rikash could have fought the multicolored flames, burned them at their own game. Maybe Han could have smothered them with his patient will. If _Deryne _had been the one in trouble, Cyne would have been able to quench the inferno.

But _she _could only further enrage them, feed them…. Tears welled up in Deryne's eyes as she struggled; she _had _to help Cyne, she had to pull herself together, figure this out…. Cyne had to fight, she had to be strong.

"Here," a voice suddenly said in her ear, with wavering confidence. The ship hand knelt beside her, taking one of the princess's hands in his. He rubbed it vigorously between his palms. "Keep her blood moving; keep her awake."

"Awake?" Merle echoed dubiously, staring down at her friend.

"Believe me- we'll know the moment she loses conciousness," the ship hand retorted, a wry laugh entering his voice. After a long look at the boy, Brand grabbed his friend's other hand and did the same. Business-like, Kol rubbed her arms and shoulders. "Stay with us," he muttered, with plea that seemed practiced, familiar to him. "Take off that blanket," he told Deryne. "She needs to be cold, to pull through this, cold helps magic, amplifies it-" He put a hand to her forehead, then came back to her hands, eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "Come on-" A grin flashed across his face as Cyne's eyes flashed open, the light of her magic glowing in her pupils; all of them ducked as the Chaos flames exploded from her, chased by a pure blue wave of power.

Then her eyes rolled up, and Cyne fainted into her friends' arms.

* * *

Rikash had not apologized to Damek, but he had not glared or abused him, either. Han was grateful for the awkward silence; it had taken considerable arguments to convince Damek to stay with them, although Cyne's presence in Scanra had gone a long way to winning her suitor over.

They had reached the City of the Gods on the Great Road, and would have to cross the border in a day's time. From there, they would have to assume the guise of young men seeking work in the capital city of Hamrkeng and establish contact with Deryne….

Han knew the easiest way to reach her would be through her mindspeak, which allowed for her to enter another's mind and talk with them… but he also knew that Rikash would rather invade the palace-fortress of Frasluk single-handedly than have her in _anyone_'s head.

Passing into Scanra was uneventful; the small pass they used through the Grimhold Mountains had not had an outpost or guard of any kind, which struck Han as odd, but they rode north, then west, puzzling out a story which would satisfy their appearances, horses, and accents without too many questions. Even when discussing their plans, Damek and Rikash both preferred to address Han than each other, which made conversations, on the whole, absurd and comedic.

It was several days more before they gave up planning in favor of playing the whole escapade by ear; mapping out their journey seemed to provide more arguments than consensuses. Han was exhausted, worn weary by the halfhearted fights his companions constantly instigated, and he told himself that his deadened senses were the reason he had become paranoid; he felt as though they were being watched, despite the impossibility of it- the earth gave him no sense of danger, nor of any observers….

He wished Deryne was there, to reassure him that he was right; her _gudruna _were even better at that sort of work than his magic was.

But he trusted his gut, despite evidence to the contrary, and that told him there _was _someone watching, which made Han more nervous than fending off attacks; there was no way to fight off a gaze. Someone lurked in the shadows, waiting.

But only the Gods knew _what _they waited for.


	10. Chapter 9: Let the Games Begin

Thanks to those who reviewed- I always enjoy reading them- **Alliekate1996**, **SarahE7191**, **Shang Leopard**, **Dragonfly257_, and my beta, KyrieofAccender. _**I'm sorry this took so long- ffn wouldn't let me log in... grr...

* * *

_Chapter Nine_

_Let the Games Begin_

_April 1, 482 H.E. _

The port city of Andukar was in sight when Cyne finally woke, shaky from her confrontation with Chaos magic, but all right, considering the enormity of the feat she had undertaken.

"Malvyn will be pleased," Deryne muttered darkly to Duskwing as they dallied on the deck; in the morning sun, Andukar's shipyards were noticeably well-kept; winter storms forced Scanrans to build and upkeep for their ports with care. Even though Andukar was situated in a large cove, the city itself was built further inwards, into the cliffs above the docks themselves.

"You talk an awful lot to your bird, ma'am." Deryne's lips twitched as she turned to Kol, the boy who had helped them several days ago during the storm.

"He keeps me sane," she drawled, eyes twinkling. The ship hand smiled back, seeing the irony in her words. "I never found a chance to thank you for saving Cyne." He shrugged, eyes falling to the deck.

"My uncle's a physician, in the city," he said. "No Gift, but he's a good hand at healing and such. He calls healing more a science than anything else, because magic can make stuff more complicated than it needs t' be. I kept her blood moving- keeps the magic going. And the cold always helps the power; amplifies it." Deryne shrugged back, noting how well-spoken he was. It seemed his uncle was a learned man.

"It saved us, whatever it was." She studied him; he could easily blend in while in Andukar, or any other Scanran city, with his pale skin and fair hair. He was gawky, usual for his age, and there were signs that he would be very large someday. "You live with your uncle?" Kol shifted; with curiosity, Deryne picked up his keen uneasiness.

"Aye," he replied cautiously. She struggled to keep her face composed, hiding her intrigue with a blank countenance.

"Your parents?" she pressed, trying to sound casual.

"Don't have no other family, ma'am, 'cept for my sister." He was hiding something….

"You seem like you know your uncle's trade," Deryne commented, turning to Duskwing with a frown. Would the Chamber help her out, or would she have to do this alone? Her voice was detached, lazy and amiable… the opposite of her churning thoughts. "Why are you _here_? Why be a ship hand, hard and dangerous work, when you could earn more in Corus?" Kol's face was pale; he was trying to hide his panic, but the _gudruna _fetched it to Deryne like a proud hound bringing a stick to its mistress.

"I-"

"Don't get me wrong," the squire continued, smiling at him. "I'm glad you were here- _are _here- but it seems a bit odd-"

"I'm looking for my sister," he blurted out, then looked away. Deryne raised her eyebrows; sister?

"Where is she?" Kol did not answer; he was eyeing the port studiously. "Hey-" She snapped her fingers under his nose. When he turned to her, he blinked furiously, then rubbed at his eyes.

"Great," he muttered, then continued on in soft, harsh syllables in neither Tortallan nor Common. Deryne's eyebrows rose even higher. Now, that she thought about it, he _did _have a very faint accent, one that tended to emphasize the harsh k's and g's that were far more gentle in Tortall….

"You're from Scanra?" Kol gritted his teeth and glared at her, eyes suspiciously bright. Her eyes narrowed. "But you left… and live with your uncle? In Corus?" He stuck out his chin.

"I'm not telling you anymore," he told her obstinately. "It's bad 'nough you know that much- Bea doesn't need no busybodies-" Deryne raised her hands.

"I'm trying to help," she retorted, fixing his gaze with hers. "It seems fair I repay your help, right?" He glowered for another moment.

_Stubborn youth. _Duskwing flexed his wings, then cried loudly at Kol, whose eyes grew huge. The ship hand blinked, then averted his eyes.

"Frejonak's hunting bird," he muttered. "He's left the sky, again-" Still avoiding a glance at the kestrel, he looked at Deryne, pale eyes wide. "The Runner of the Skies would not choose you unless you were true." She was silent; what could she say to that? "You'll help me?" Puzzled, Deryne nodded, wondering what had provoked his words, and Kol breathed a sigh of relief.

_What have you gotten me into? _she demanded silently of the Chamber, but the only answer she got was a sinister chuckle. _I've got enough on my plate, as it is. _

"Our parents are dead," he said bluntly. "But I left, before that…. I think-" He swallowed heavily, sizing the squire up once more. "I think she's in the palace," he explained in a rush. "Stuck working there- I did, myself, before I left, but she needs to come back with us, because it ain't safe in Hamrkeng. Not ever." A fierce look entered his eyes. "It's been years now, and the longer you stay, the harder they hold on t' you- I need to help her." Deryne eyed him, thinking slowly.

"So you need to get into the palace?" she clarified. Looking more unsure of himself, Kol nodded. "And find her. That's it?" Kol's jaw flexed. Then he nodded.

It was a simple request; Deryne herself could "hire" him as a servant, or Alan could, and he could find out where his sister was….

"But I shouldn't be seen," he added suddenly. Deryne's eyes narrowed.

"Why?" He fidgeted.

"I… was in some trouble, when I left," he admitted reluctantly. The girl rubbed her head wearily. She _knew _it had sounded too easy.

"How much trouble?" she asked. Kol shook his head. "You don't want to tell me?" Her lips twitched. "Did you up and insult the king himself?"

"Sommat like that," the youth muttered, and Deryne's curiosity was further piqued. She bit her lip, considering her options one last time before she nodded.

"That's fine. You don't have to go in when I do," she said. "I have some friends who can sneak you in later-" Kol's head snapped up, his eyes gleaming.

"Really?" he whispered. Deryne pushed away a trickling feeling of unease; what if Rikash refused? And she still felt like Kol was holding out on her… but the only way to find out was to stay with him. She smiled, extending her hand for a quick, firm handshake with the ship hand.

"Promise," she vowed.

* * *

Han knocked twice on the door of a small house on Remakr Street, then pushed it open; the sturdy wood gave way to the dusty floor and dirty windows of a long-abandoned residence. He glanced around; everything was as Numair had said it would be, to the old broom propped up in the corner- several years before, the spymaster had acquired dwellings in Hamrkeng as meeting places, sanctuaries for discovered spies and people of interest to Tortall. This one had always been kept a secret; there was no way anyone could know of its current use.

Rikash strode in, wrinkling his nose.

"I'm not cleaning," he said shortly, tossing his packs down; they had been forced to leave the horses in a stable halfway across the city. Han smiled.

"I'm very comfortable, myself," he commented, taking a deep breath. "No servants here to do any work, Ri." Damek rolled his eyes, making his way to the broom and snatching it up.

"Lazy mages," he muttered, shaking his head. "You think you walk on water." Rikash's jaw flexed, but he gave the Kyprian an ironic smile.

"No- that's just your lover." A sigh escaped Damek as he began sweeping. "Domesticated already?" Rikash stopped when Han elbowed him.

"She isn't my lover," Damek said sharply, beating the straw broom head against the floor. "We-" He ran a hand through his hair. "I admit, that I don't know how close I can be to her." His lips twitched. "I try…." Then he shook his head, glancing up to see an odd, rueful expression of understanding on his antagonizor's face which disappeared into a scowl the moment Rikash saw him looking. Damek did not know what to make of it. "We heard the first banquet is the day after next," he said, turning back to their dark, temporary home. "And the delegations should be arriving within hours; I say we contact Master Salmalin and find out what his orders are."

_And carry them out, quickly, _Rikash thought silently to himself. _And then leave this damned city. _He had been in Hamrkeng for only a several hours, and he was already loathing it.  
_

* * *

  
_

The walls of Hamrkeng glowed in the sunlight; the granite sparkled as the three delegations approached the city, escorted by Scanran guards. Deryne felt a twinge of unease as she turned to Kol, who nodded confidently; he seemed certain that he could fade into the crowd before they came anywhere near the palace. The squire fervently hoped so; she hoped that he also found Rikash and Han all right- perhaps Numair would be angry at her for compromising their position, but from her minor prying-not without guilt- she could tell that whatever Kol would not tell her, it was not any danger to her. He just wanted to help his sister; she could understand that.

Indeed, the youth was right; moments after they entered the walls, she turned to find him gone. She fidgeted, casting a glance behind her to Cyne, where she formally sat at the head of the Kyprian delegation with Aly. The Copper Isles' spymaster and her twin brother, knight of Tortall, were very similar in facial features; they would have to stay as far apart as possible during these negotiations to avoid questions. Sir Alan was planning to remain in his rooms in Frasluk as much as he could; he really was only there to explain Deryne's presence.

She swallowed heavily as they made their way through narrow streets; what did Malvyn have in store for them? His invitation had been a direct challenge to them, one they had accepted with little deliberation. Now, Deryne wondered if this had been the right choice. She squared her shoulders as the homes ended, leaving space between them and the palace-fortress walls; people watched them with curiosity but then withdrew, not daring to remain within the soldiers' range.

"Ready, squire?" Deryne turned to see Alan's reassuring smile; if they had not been riding, he might have clasped her shoulder. A dry little smirk played across her lips.

"Always. Meeting old friends is always exciting." Alan raised an eyebrow before he turned to the iron gates before them; the palace guard unlocked them now, bellowing orders to open the oak doors behind them. She noticed both were new; she betted Roger had been behind the replacement. The man left nothing to chance.

A shiver raced up her spine as they rode into Frasluk, Tortallans first, Yamanis last. Before them was a wide staircase that led to the fortress's doors, and a single man was strolling down the steps with a proprietary air. A huge, brunet man garbed in Scanran finery.

A harsh Scanran wind blew, assuring her that _it _was in charge here; this was Frejonak's domain, and his storms made the earth tremble. Still, Deryne wondered if the might of the mountain god would be enough to match wits with Roger of Conte, pawn of Chaos.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her fists clenched the reins of her mount as she looked up at the former duke, who was slowly scanning the entourage; when his gaze alit on her, a smile with all the friendliness a cat gave a mouse played across his face, and he ducked his head in a subtle, mocking bow to her. Anger blossomed in her chest and she returned his feral grin, feeling her heart turn to ice as the wind howled its support of her defiance in her ears.

All the players had arrived… and now, the games began.

* * *

_AN: Very short... but I feel that I have to stop here, and I'm fair busy.... But I'll be back soon! ;D_


	11. Chapter 10: The Demonstration

_An: Thanks to those who reviewed- as always, your input is heartening- _**_Shang Leopard_**_, **Dragonfly 257**, **SarahE7191**. And thanks, Kyrie, for betaing, as per usual. ;D Finally, I've written a chapter of my normal, proper length!  


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_Chapter 10_

_The Demonstration_

She did not pay much attention to the proceedings, but _everyone _had to be presented to the Chancellor, and when it was her turn, Deryne could not help but listen to the wind at her command as she and Alan bowed to Roger. He was laughing to himself, and making no effort to resist her intrusion. In fact, he welcome prying, magnanimously opening his mind, unable to sense her touch but superciliously certain she was there.

Here eyes slid to his; his blue eyes glittered.

"Welcome, friends," he said, the customary greeting mocking on his tongue. He dipped his head. "I hope your stay will bring a new understanding between our two nations." A thought bulged out of his collection of emotions and memories, extended tantalizingly before her _gudruna_ like the end of an unraveling seam, begging for a tug. Cautiously, Deryne pulled it towards her, and the Chancellor's voice resounded inside her head.

_I do wish I could salute you properly, my dear. _Deryne had to fight the sudden scowl that came to her face; only the Chamber spoke inside _her _mind. Then, alarmed, she banished the thought, for fear that- somehow- Roger could hear her as well as she heard him. Alan turned, and she followed him to where those who had been presented waited, fighting down panic. _I trust you will enjoy this… most informative visit. _Her nails bit into her palms as she frantically searched the breezes for magic that might betray her consciousness to his, but there were none. She relaxed; this communication was like his projecting crystal- for her entertainment only. She glanced at the chancellor side-long, but he gave away no sign of the inner monologue he spilled out onto the breezes. _I _have _missed you- it's been dull here, without proper adversaries. _He missed not a beat as he welcomed the last few members of the Tortallan delegation. _Even the Salmalin boy was a greater challenge to placate, to manipulate… for Malvyn, at least. _There was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips; Deryne doubted anyone else, ignorant to his smug little speech, would notice. _But I remember it all… and you, of course, were always so perceptive. You and your lover kept me on my toes. _Deryne's jaw flexed. _But I survived, _he drawled. _I_ _persevered for _your _sake. And now, you and your friends have a foe worthy of your talents. _

Deryne closed her mind, despite her growing curiosity; indeed, she cut herself off before she was too fascinated to let go of his poison. She would find out his meaning in time; she did not need to stoop to _this_. Besides, since when had she done what he wanted? And he clearly _wanted _her listening to his taunts.

Well, she was not Rikash; this bating would not provoke her. It only strengthened her resolve, reminding her of why she was there. She let other, fresher _gudruna_, untainted by his bile, race through her mind and out again, following them on their merry hunt for news to please her.

* * *

Rikash leapt up into a fighting stance when someone pounded on the door; he nearly upset the chair he had been sitting on. With an amused look at his antsy friend, Han crossed the room to unbolt the latch and tug the door open to see a boy several years younger than them, breathing hard as he looked the earth-mage over. He swallowed heavily, tucking his blond hair behind his ears.

"Han?" he whispered, glancing side to side. Without a word, the tall country youth drew the visitor inside, where Rikash advanced with a scowl. "Deryne sent me." Rikash snorted, and the boy straightened, looking him in the eye. "She did," he retorted to Rikash's silent but obvious skepticism. "And she told me to say that she'd deal with you later, Rikash Salmalin." A small noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle left Han as Rikash's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in resentment.

"Even Malvyn could have told him to say that," he muttered, looking at Han, who shrugged.

"You two don't keep your friendliness a secret," he agreed, deadpan expression giving nothing away. Rikash scoffed, then raised an eyebrow.

"_Deryne _has a message? For _us_?" He had not even known that she knew their address; he guessed his _father _had up and told her, just in case of any emergencies…. He rolled his eyes. "What? That she's arrived? We know that- even the tiniest sack of rags in Hamrkeng knows _that_." From his place in the corner, Damek sighed.

"Leave the boy alone," he requested wearily, rising to his feet. The stilted arguments that had been having for the past few hours had exhausted him; it had been decided that he would not be able to leave the house, since his dark hair and copper skin would attract attention- now he was even more skittish than before, boarded up with another mage who disliked waiting.

"What's wrong?" Han asked, steering the messenger towards a chair.

"Nothing- she sends her greetings," the boy replied, to Rikash's derisive snort. "And she asks that you help me into the castle, later. When the fuss dies down."

"Trap," Rikash said shortly, turning on his companions. "Malvyn _knows _we're up and about-"

"She said that, if you're questioning me, to say that last time you were out Shadow-hunting, you saved her from a swarm that came up behind her while she was struggling with the- vent, I think she said?" He glanced at them for clarification; he clearly had no understanding of what he recited. Rikash nodded tersely, jaw flexing; she remembered. "And that she never thanked you for it," the boy finished, voice quieter. There was a long silence; Rikash caught Han sneaking a glance at him. A small sigh escaped the fire mage; he plopped back down into his seat, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll probably regret this," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "What's your name?" he asked, voice slightly louder as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Kol, sir." Rikash snorted again.

"I'm no sir, boy." He leaned back, then looked over at his Kyprian companion. "Damek?" The islander started. "Could you get out that speaking crystal?" Eyeing Rikash suspiciously, Damek nodded, wondering over the request- usually, with Salmalin, it was an order, coupled with an insult. "You remember the interception spell? The one that can use Cyne's crystal as a spying glass?" Rikash tapped his fingers against his chair. "It'll be another day before we can enter-"

"We?" Kol interrupted, curiosity gleaming in his pale eyes. "You're going-" Han nudged him as Rikash's sharp gaze flickered back to the boy before the fire mage continued.

"And, in the meantime, they're having talks in Frasluk." His amber eyes glittered with his voice grew hard and dangerously pleasant. "And I want to know every _word _that comes out of that bastard's mouth."

* * *

Her room was small but well-furnished, especially for Scanra, a nation that prospered little with such cold winters and short summers; Roger had probably added more décor just for this little gathering.

_You blame him for everything, _the Chamber noted, amused, as Deryne eased herself onto the bed; many others had had to share chambers and even sleep in one of the great halls of the huge, cold castle-fortress, but both she and her knight master had been among the fortunate few to receive snug rooms warmed by an elaborate steam system designed by Vikhard Moneustrak, a renowned builder from Scanran history. She even had it to herself.

"I blame Roger for that, too," she drawled, not entirely in good-humor; she had already searched the room for concealed passageways, traps- anything that the chancellor might have hidden to unnerve her.

_He's very courteous, _the Chamber observed, and she laughed at the sardonic remark as she plopped down on the mattress. She smirked as she stretched out, closing her eyes.

"Fit for a queen," she replied wryly, wondering if this was the sorcerer's intent, to soften her up before he struck her down. The thought made her jump up, away from the temptation to sleep. She sighed, running her hands through her hair; she would have to pin the loose strands back up. "How long until he calls us all together?" The kestrel stretched its wings.

_He has not simply called the Tortallans and your friends. There are others who have been waiting- the Tusaine, the Gallans, Marenites- even a small embassy from Carthak. _Deryne's gaze snapped to her bird.

"All of Tortall's allies?"

_If you can call the Tusaine and Marenites _allies _to Tortall. _Deryne bit her lip; this was true- perhaps they were smaller neighbors, but any chance to join an enemy of Tortall-

"But we still outnumber them," she muttered. "With power and size- the emperor of Carthak would not turn, not when his wife is Roald's sister, and the Yamanis are bound by marriage, and the Kyprians are indebted to us; they are no danger-"

_Not counting your enemy's _new _friends, _the Chamber answered darkly. Deryne frowned.

"What do you know? About them?" she added, taking a step towards her kestrel. She reached out, stroking his feathers gently.

_You'll be seeing tonight; now that everyone is here, _it added sourly. _Roger does not want to waste a moment, and he can excuse his haste with our delegations because the _others _have been waiting. _Deryne scowled.

"We were only a day or so late!" she exclaimed. "How did the _Marenites _arrive before us, if they went by ship?"

_Because the chancellor wanted them there earlier, so he _told _them earlier, _the Chamber answered, ignoring her huff of indignation. She glowered.

"And I'll bet he only told the Carthakis a little before us," she said to herself, crossing her arms as she paced, trying to warm herself. "And since their delegation is smaller, it took less time to put together and sail north." She scowled again. "And _they _did not have any magical storms delaying them- was that whole spell _just _to thumb his nose at us?" she demanded incredulously. She shook her head.

_Do not bothering puzzling out the mind of the insane, _the Chamber advised. _Especially when he is so eager to explain his logic to you himself.

* * *

  
_

She was grateful for the furs and heavy clothing she had abhorred donning again, after the Tortallan winter; Scanra was far colder, even now, in early spring. She shivered as she walked a few paces down the corridor to her knight master's room, where she pounded on the door until he arrived. He grinned at her.

"Off to see the madman," he said quietly as he locked his door behind him. "I would hum a merry tune, except that Harailt would look at me oddly." Deryne smiled half-hearted at his poor jest, but she was more eager to go to the hall where the Tortallans and the Marenites would be dining before the conference began, and then to the amphitheatre, where Roger was to have his demonstrations at hand.

In fact, she was tempted to find the amphitheatre right then, glimpse what her old enemy was plotting- Alan patted her on the shoulder.

"We'll know soon enough," he whispered as they approached the great hall; Harailt was waiting outside it, eyes troubled. The university mage was second-in-command of the Tortallans and their direct communicator with Numair. He joined the knight and squire as they entered the small, sparsely decorated hall, with benches and tables but little more. A group of Marenites- well dressed and groomed- turned to glance at them before looking away with prudish airs. Deryne smirked slightly.

Before she and Alan could sit, Harailt grabbed them both by the elbow subtly, halting them. The girl looked at the mage questioningly, and he sighed.

"Master Harailt?" Alan prompted, lips barely moving. The other man- a blank smile on his face- turned his back to their surroundings so that he faced them.

"Lord Deuthe and other heads of the delegations are negotiating with Chancellor Heolstor now," he muttered, taking them several steps away from the entrance. Deryne frowned. "Ah- no scowling, look bored, please-" To ease his frantic tirade, she smiled, recomposing her face. Harailt ran a hand across his face. "And Scanrans won't even wait for Prince Liam," he murmured. Deryne's eyes widened with surprise, and the mage elaborated. "We needed a head of state, and His Highness usually does the job, but he was up north. A message was sent and he will take over as head of negotiations once he's ridden up, but they will not wait and to insist would start us off on poor footing-"

"Why are they talking now?" Alan whispered, glancing down at Deryne and back at the mage. Harailt grimaced.

"The chancellor is asking that each country select only several delegates to attend this first _demonstration_, as he calls it," he whispered. "He says that the _talks _will be later." Alan scowled, despite Harailt's instant reproof.

"I don't like the sound of it. What's he supposed to be _demonstrating_, anyway?" Harailt shook his head.

"The point is, he's trying to make this hard for us; Lord Deuthe doesn't know _why _you're supposed to be at everything, Deryne," he hissed. "All _he _knows is that you are to be there by the king's order, and that he isn't supposed to let the chancellor know, and the man's keeping Deuthe between a rock and the hard place, questioning his selection-" He glanced over Alan. "We had to leave you off the list," he added grimly. "-but that's raising even more questions, having the squire without-"

"R- Ma- _Heolstor_ knows exactly why I'm going to be there," Deryne replied, irked. Harailt put a finger to his lips, and she let her voice drop. "He's just making Deuthe sweat it out… and he's having fun while he's at it." Harailt smiled at the sardonic sourness in her words. She shook her head in disgust. "Taunting- it's his favorite game. He prefers to leave the actual fighting to his lackeys." Alan put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it as Harailt winced, glancing around for anyone who could be in earshot.

"Best keep your temper, lass," the knight muttered. "He's got these halls spelled for listening, if he's half as good as you say." Deryne snorted; it mattered little what Roger heard- he knew that she would blast him into the Black God's realm if she wrangled half a chance to do so. She was less merciful than she had been last time they had met. She was ready to turn the tables on him, sense and manners be damned.

"No worries," she said shortly, looking Harailt in the eye. "He's playing his little games with Deuthe; trust me, he _wants _me there." A smirk curled across her lips. "And if Deuthe wants him to stop, he should pretend to leave me out; I'll wager you'll see the ol' chancellor have a quick change of tune." She outright grinned. "In fact, tell him that my knight master will come instead, and see what he'll give us for my presence at his exclusive little party." Harailt raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Deryne did not doubt she was right; she only wished she could be there to see Roger sweat. She made her way to the other Tortallans; she knew few of them and wished that they had been dining with the Kyprians tonight. Still, as she sat, she raised her goblet in good spirits.

"To clever negotiations," she drawled as her knight master caught up with her. Easing into the seat next to her, he toasted her in return, despite a glower from a conservative earl across the table.

"And devious minds," he replied solemnly, eyes twinkling. "Thank the Gods you're on our side."

* * *

Later that night, Deryne answered a quiet knock to come face-to-face with Harailt.

"You were right," the mage announced, eyes twinkling before he assumed a grim expression. The squire replied with a small, dark smile before sliding out of her room and shutting the door tightly behind her; Duskwing would take care of any intruders. "I will escort you back here after the demonstration, unless unforeseen events tie me up, but we _will _have someone there." Deryne snorted.

"I thought Master Numair told you everything," she said as they strode down the corridor. "If he had, you'd know I don't need any escort."

"Appearance is everything," he replied firmly, to which Deryne shrugged in acquiescence before opening her mind to their surroundings. She liked the way the _gudruna _bounced through the passageways of the old castle, from the outdoor winds, harmonizing in a chilling symphony of stirring whispers that echoed through her mind soothingly. They pulsed through her and temptingly drew her away from her current troubles on their dancing zephyrs, trickling tidbits of meaningless chatter from Frasluk's inhabitants filling her thoughts.

She liked the feel of the wind in Scanra; now, at Frasluk, she was becoming more and more aware of it- _gudruna _sang, frolicking through her ears with just enough power to remind her of what a tremendous force she commanded.

"Did Heolstor say anything else?" she prompted as they turned the corner, heading for the staircase. Harailt shook his head.

"Have you gleaned anything out of the Marenites?" he asked in return. Deryne shook her head; she had sorted information the _gudruna _brought from their neighbors during dinner.

"Heolstor- and Ingmar, for that matter- have been keeping tight-lipped about this new ally of theirs," she answered. "He gave the same speech to each of us, through those projections." Harailt's jaw set.

"Never mind," he said, voice dropping to a murmur as the head of the Carthaki delegation approached the stairs from the other end of the hallway. "We'll learn in a few minutes." After a nod of acknowledgement, the two men descended, Deryne behind the Tortallan mage. They did not speak again as they reached the doors to which Harailt had been directed and entered.

A soft murmur of surprise and grudgingly appreciation left Deryne's throat as she gazed down upon the sight that met her eyes; they were looking out over the enclosed amphitheatre, over the hundreds of seats and scads of people to the empty pit in the center of the enormous chamber. Huge columns extended graceful upward to support the ceiling of glass. Thick glass, and enchanted, by the odd buzzing that her _gudruna _picked up when they brushed up against the window to the stars.

"I didn't know how advanced Frasluk is," she whispered. Harailt nodded, turning his head to view their surroundings better. She looked down the steps, where the delegations each gathered around the sand-strewn pit. Only the first few benches were filled, all the way around, but she could pick out the Tortallans even from her high vantage point; someone had thoughtfully covered each section of the ring of seats with the colors of the respective countries of each delegation. The squire's lips pursed as she saw the Conte blue; she wondered if roger still considered himself the Duke of Conte. It seemed he nursed mightier ambitions than the Tortallan throne now; he had called a council of nations, gathered diplomats and nobles from the eastern and southern lands in numbers and from distances unprecedented, to come to Scanra, a restless and frigid world… ripe for the taking, yearning for promises of an end to upheaval.

The Chancellor stood next to the throne at the opposite end of the amphitheatre, a little higher than Deryne was now. His eyes scanned the masses, face alit with triumph. The monarch in front of him was a trifling obstacle; _he _was the commander, the conductor, the puppeteer- the architect of the events that now unfolded before him with the ease of a well-practiced play.

And now, the fruits of his labors were almost in his grasp, whatever they were-

Seeing his smug manner, Deryne wished she could break free of the course he had dictated for them all, but she would have to dance to his tune to learn what he had wrought in anticipation of her resistance.

And _then _she could crush him.

They parted from the Carthaki, taking their places a row behind Lord Deuthe, who looked oddly at Deryne before returning to his conversation with his wife. Harailt bent his head towards Deryne to explain.

"Sar Heolstor almost instantly insisted you come," he whispered. "After Deuthe agreed that even _my _protégée in state affairs-" Her cover. "-might not be a good choice for such an demonstration, the chancellor said that if youngsters were indeed interested in the tedious doings of their elders, then it was far from him to discourage." Deryne smirked. "In fact, he says he's given us the best view of the proceedings." He nodded to where they sat.

"I don't know what this is about, but I doubt it'll be tedious," she commented, leaning against the back of the bench. She crossed her arms as trumpets blew, then sat up, not wanting to seem petulant or childish. Deuthe gave her one last glance before he turned to King Hauk Ingmar, who stood with his hands aloft, calling silently for attention, not that there were any who did not fall silent as the fanfare. Roger lounged in the shadows, not far behind his king.

Deryne remembered one of the few interesting bits she had learned from the Marenites; _they _knew from recent observation that the Chancellor was the one running the snow, the one behind the throne and crown of Scanra. Perhaps she should have told Harailt, but the fact had come as no surprise to her, and it had slipped her mind that maybe that was not as obvious and outwardly apparent as she thought.

Across the pit before them, Deryne caught sight of Cyne in the flash of color as everyone rose and bowed.

"Sit, friends," the Scanran leader boomed; she was surprised, given his distance, how clear his voice was. "And meet our new allies, the Gotzan of the far north sea!" Deryne's eyes narrowed as a figure emerged from behind Roger; there must be an entrance behind the throne….

"Leave the theatrics to him," she muttered, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the one standing side by side with Chaos's slave, but the light was dim….

Her fingers itched, and a small breeze rose, winding up from her seat and across the pit, barely stirring the sand as it rose, reaching out towards the mystery dangling before her.

She suddenly wondered if Roger _wanted _her to use her magic; why else all the secrecy, the lurking in the dark? It was time for him to unveil his newest horror… but he was going about his little demonstration very sneakily. But she would follow his rules, to learn the reason behind the madness-

Her _gudruna _swept across Ingmar's rugged features, then Roger's smile… and slid into nothing; they swept around the figure, revealing nothing of him….

Deryne's brow furrowed; as Roger stepped forwards, strolling down the steps like an emperor, she sent a stronger breeze, one that stirred her hair as it made its way towards this person, whoever he was.

"Tezock is a great mage and soldier among his people," the chancellor said, his voice measured. "He has acquiesced to a _demonstration_-" His teeth flashed in a wild grin. "-of the skills of his people." The hairs on the back of Deryne's neck rose in warning.

Then the figure moved, out of the shadows and past the king, in a languid but fluid motion that somehow caught her by surprise; he- Tezock- descended after Roger, movements as calculated as his companion's words. His skin was whiter than the purest snow of the Grimhold Mountains, and his frame was unnaturally delicate… sinisterly fragile in the same way a single snowflake may seem unthreatening… until the full force of the winter storm strikes.

At the bottom of the stairs, where the aisles met the pit, Tezock glanced at the fifteen foot drop to the sand below, then swept over the railing to land without stirring a single piece of grit… and Deryne knew, because her mind was completely open to the winds now, to any _gudruna _that could tell her anything; she knew Harailt was watching her- his hope and curiosity overwhelmed her… he wanted to know what was going on, probably believed she knew everything by now-

She knew nothing. Since she had mastered her power, the _gudruna _had been her true vision, telling her what was there when her eyes could not perceive it. Now her _eyes_ told her Tezock was there, but there was not a breath of him in the winds- strong as she dared- that she sent his way.

Another fanfare crowed triumphantly over the quiet hum of the crowd, and the door in the pit opened; a group of men were escorted by soldiers towards Tezock.

"Convicts," Harailt muttered to himself. "Expendable." Blood pounded in Deryne's ears.

"You may begin, Lord Tezock," Roger declared, smiling benignly down upon what Deryne realized would be a bloodbath in a matter of moments. She tried to stand, struggling to understand and instinctively rebelling against the order the chancellor had created, but she was too slow; the fair-skinned ally twisted his head, and the criminals froze in their tracks, eyes huge, faces almost as pale as their predator's. Simultaneously, they choked, falling to their knees, as Tezock observed, disinterest clear as his eyes roved along the crowd staring in stunned horror. The prisoners collapsed to the ground, spending their last breaths in the rough sand. As their executioner's gaze fell upon her, a shudder raced up Deryne's spine; instead of eyes, he had darkness, pits of emptiness that reached into centuries of despair and drew upon years of misery and terror to strike fear in all he gazed upon.

A pang of familiarity slammed into Deryne; he was familiar, somehow… in more than one way… like a suppressed memory, or nightmare….

And, as his eyes alit on the Tortallan delegation, a terrible smile crossed his face, making his features crueler, less human. Deryne fought a wave of panic; there was _no way _he could see her- he enjoyed the general terror of the shadowed chamber, the crowd he shook so completely as he basked in the light….

But even as she told herself to control herself- she was a squire of the realm, after all- something new prickled at her consciousness; the _gudruna _were stirring, weaving in their little circles, past her and through the crowd….a familiar sensation, their eager rush, streaming across the room and filling its high ceilings and encompassing all….

Except that it was not her to whom they spoke. Icy fear knifed her heart as she followed their path, leading her to look Tezock in the eye as he summoned her breezes to him and, pulling them tightly to him, sucked them into an oblivion from which she could not retrieve them.

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_An: I LOVE reviews... hinthint. ;D_


	12. Chapter 11: Reunion

AN: Sorry that it's been so long... I have many excuses, but ultimately, it's silly to excuse my neglect... although I have labored over this chapter, to make it as perfect as I can get.... thank you to reviewers, **twilightm00n**, **Shang Leopard**, **SarahE7191**, **Alliekat1996**, **Eternityfalls**, and **Dragonfly257**. And my beta, as usual, of course. ;D

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_Chapter 11_

_Reunion_

_April 2, 482 H.E. _

"Again," Rikash insisted as the demonstration projected before his eyes came to a close for the third time. The commanding figure in the center of an arena gazed down at the bodies cast across the sand as the images blurred and Numair's ghostly face came into view. He was grimacing.

"Ri, this takes a gods-cursed amount of strength," he told his son, who rolled his eyes unappreciatively. "They aren't even my memories; Harailt gave them to me."

"I don't see how that makes a difference," Rikash said tartly; his father was a black robe mage, one of the most powerful in all the Eastern lands and beyond. Why couldn't he perform the projection spell one more time? "You have a link-" He gestured down at the speaking-spell crystal the boys had propped up on a windowsill. His father had its twin back in his study in Corus.

"But I have to summon the memory _from _Frasluk and then project it back there," Numair replied, exasperated. "Even with an instrument for the second casting, summoning is more difficult- and you've seen it enough times."

"Why couldn't Harailt just send _us _the information?" Damek asked. Rikash snorted with derision, but stayed quiet with a reproving frown from his father.

"Because Roger will be watching what long-reaching spells are performed within the fortress," Numair answered, running a hand through his hair wearily. The gray streaks were telling; he must have been very busy lately, if he had not bothered to dye his locks. "It would be believable, that Harailt would send a memory of the shock to us, back in Corus. All of the delegations have will have had a mage send _that _back to their respective monarchs. Any spying enchantments would be inexact, but they would tell Roger enough about how far the spell went, and if he recognized _your _magic on the receiving end-"

"-it would blaze a trail to us," Han finished, nodding. Kol sat beside him, on the floor, eyes wide as he observed the proceedings.

"I need to be at full strength," Numair said quietly. "I'm a reserve. For now." Rikash made a face, but flexed his hand; in the fire he brought to his fingertips, he forced the flames to replay the sketchy memory he had constructed of the events through Numair's spell.

As the first group of men the Gotzane slaughtered fell to the ground, he stopped the image, glaring at the shadowy silhouette of Tezock.

"And we are still at a disadvantage, until Prince Liam arrives," Rikash noted sardonically. "Where _is _His Highness?"

"You don't like him very much," Han observed mildly. His friend scowled.

"As much as I like any warrior who holds to the tiresome belief that if one hits hard enough, the foe will stay down." Han chuckled, crossing his arms as Rikash glowered.

"Like you, then?" A smile ghosted Numair's face, while his son's eyes narrowed.

"Except that _I _am left to deal with the sorcerers, the immortals, the Shadows-"

"Because you are best-suited to them," Numair cut in. "Leave the swordsmen to the swordsmen and the mages to the mages-" Rikash's lips curled in a nasty sneer.

"And if the mage happens to be a swordsman, too? Who deals with him _then_?" His gaze turned back to the frozen images above his fingertips; if it came to blows with this new foe, Rikash knew _damn _well who would be the one fighting. "And what does _Deryne _say about the mystery guest?" he demanded, completely changing the subject. "Why hasn't she told you everything yet?" What scruples were holding her back from ferreting out danger _this _time? He was annoyed, and curious, but he held his tongue. Numair was staring downwards, probably at something on his desk.

"I need your intervention," he said softly. "In Frasluk. As soon as is possible." Rikash scoffed.

"Since when does she welcome _our _help?" he demanded, and Numair's jaw set. His eyes were dark when he finally looked up; Rikash tensed in spite of himself as more questions flashed through his mind- what if it _wasn't _just her fickle morals? What if something had-

"Right about there, in the demonstration-" Numair nodded at the flames licking around the glittering outline of the amphitheatre of Frasluk. "Harailt says she turned whiter than the Goddess's moon- He said he thought it was the horror of witnessing those deaths… but from what he said, it was after that, when Tezock started to scan the crowds…." His face darkened. "-and every execution after that, she looked more and more ill. She hasn't said a word about it- all she asks is if she can meet with Cyne, which she can't, because Roger has so far kept the Kyprian and Tortallan delegations busy and _away _from each other."

"Divide and conquer," Damek commented, arms crossed. Han cast a worried glance around the room.

"Can you talk with her?" the earth-mage asked, but Numair shook his head.

"Too risky; Frasluk has housed the greatest conspirators and traitors of the ages," he muttered. "More than likely, _someone _has developed a way to listen in to speaking-spells over the years." Han's brow furrowed.

"Then _we _can talk to her," he decided, rising from his chair. Numair nodded.

"That is what I need from you now," Numair added, jaw set. "Intervention." His gaze locked with his son's; his next words were slow, measuring. "I know that we agreed that we would refrain from using you if we could, espionage being dangerously politically, let alone risky for you, but the rules are changing before our eyes; we need to know _anything _possible about Tezock and his fellow immortals… what they are, preferably." The four in Hamrkeng stiffened.

"Immortals?" Rikash echoed, looking back down at his distorted, vague image.

"Well, he isn't human," Han reasoned; he did not seem surprised. "I cannot sense it, in a mere memory, but no mortal ever killed a score of men without blinking- or tore them to pieces with his bare hands," he added, mentioning the final demonstration, when the Gotzane had been unleashed upon a score of hardened, armed criminals.

"Except Deryne," Rikash muttered sourly, only considering the first demonstration; for that, he received a none-too-gentle punch from his friend. Han gripped him by the arm.

"She's never done that," the earth-mage hissed firmly in his ear. "You know that _damned well_." Rikash grimaced, then nodded, irritated; Han had taken to defending her like a court matron protecting her daughter's reputation. Maybe it had been wrong to say, but Han _had _to know that he didn't really mean it….

They broke apart and turned back to the conversation; by some stroke of good fortune, no one had heard the exchange.

"If they're immortals, aren't they recorded somewhere?" Damek was asking softly. "If no sightings _now_, surely in some other era-"

"They are not," Numair replied flatly, voice tired. He rubbed his face with a hand. "And I've been searching- that's the other reason I'm not sending that spell again, Ri; I'm exhausted and left with no results." His lips twisted in a scowl. "Although, if anyone knows, Deryne does, and I'm not excited about that prospect," he mentioned darkly. "Why else is she keeping so quiet?" _And what could be so terrible that she cannot talk about it? _Rikash wondered, before scoffing; she was just acting like any panicky female....

"Has she seen Tezock since then?" Damek wanted to know. Numair shook his head.

"I _think _she's staying in her rooms, pleading sickness- which Roger is probably crowing to himself about. He's given her a nasty surprise, whatever she's found out." His frown deepened. "What concerns me is that she's shaken up enough to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to her." Rikash's jaw set; his father was right. Deryne was like him, and Rikash knew he would rather _die _than give Malvyn that pleasure.

"I'll find her," he said, mind puzzling out the plan of attack they had already half-formed. "We'll enter posing as servants, and I'll go to the party, and either find her or Sir Alan- Han can check her chamber, but I'll bet she'll be there." Two days, and Deryne would be itching to slap the smirk off of Malvyn's face; she would go, or her insufferable bird would make her. Rikash would bet his last copper on it. "Kol, Damek could use your help finding Tezock's quarters- or better still, Malvyn's- and _then_ he can help you look for your sister-" He turned to his father to elaborate. "Deryne will want to see me or Han, and Damek has learned the mage craft of the raka mages all his life- masters of illusion and espionage, from all those years of persecution-"

"I _am _aware of the raka's reputation," Numair assured his son with a small smile. "And I approve. You _have _worked out your positions as servants, I hope?" Han nodded.

"Just this morning."

"With any luck, any checking the chancellor has ordered is for two youths, not four," the black robe mage said with a sigh. "I suppose Deryne will have to hold out until tomorrow night." Rikash gritted his teeth; it was a long time, especially in negotiations… Roger could throw any number of threats and promises in the way of the countries gathered _before _they could puzzled out exactly what was going on.

"Maybe this Tezock is the only one of his kind," Damek said wearily, leaning back against the wall. His eyes fell shut, and he spoke to the ceiling. "Maybe Roger's bluffing, and you can blast the Gotzane in the Divine Realms, and all our problems will be done with." Rikash's smile was daggered.

"Maybe," he allowed, before his amber eyes darkened. "But I doubt it; he's ready for us, this time."

* * *

Deryne hissed a curse under her breath as she fumbled with the collar of her gown; although the rest of the dress was noticeably Tortallan in style, the high neck was to add some semblance of warmth for cold Scanran nights. Lalasa should not have bothered; all events took place inside, anyway, and Frasluk was snugger than the chilly passageways of the palace in Corus- the fortress was _designed _to retain heat… which meant all the effort was for nothing. She tugged on the soft material, unsure what it was, but savoring the feeling against her calloused hands.

The Crown had been very generous in supplying her wardrobe for the expedition; the Tortallans had to match the finery of the other delegations, other nations that took much greater stock in appearance than Deryne did. The gray, periwinkle color matched her eyes almost perfectly, and made them more vivid, vibrant against her pale skin and dark hair…. She sighed, thinking of her cousin Nora as she carefully pulled her locks into a cascade of curls; her young cousin had taught her the simple style for nights like these, when the imperious girl would not be present to fuss over the squire. It always looked better when Nora did it, but it was passable… and the formalness of her attire made her look older, haughtier… more than a match for the Lord Chancellor. She smirked, and her face was more recognizable. She silently dared Roger to do his worst, then crossed the room to pound a fist on the wooden frame of the bed. This was no time for foolish challenges to whatever gods listened.

_I agree, _the Chamber said coldly. Duskwing preened his feathers. _Find out what you will about Tezock; I like not the sound of this. _

"You mean you don't know what he is?" she asked, but the Chamber did not reply, which meant either she was right… or he did not want to tell her what the Gotzane was. She was not sure what would be more reassuring. "Frejonak, help me," she whispered as a knock pounded on the door.

"Deryne?" Alan called. "Squires don't get more time to dress just because they're girls! We aren't holding up the whole ball for you, you know!"

How she despised balls… Deryne glanced once more into the mirror, reaching a hand up to the pearl earbobs her aunt Kel had given her. All the ceremony and pomp… the noise and the dancing…. There were parties, but this would be beyond that, with ostentatious formality, elaborate rituals, and no expense spared.

She had not attended one of _those _in quite some time.

And Roger knew it. She cursed once more, then turned to open the door.

* * *

When the king, his consort, the Lord Chancellor, and Tezock were announced, the bolder and the ignorant lined up to greet the four; Deryne waited patiently as Harailt bent over the hand of Lady Orbea, the fair-haired, dainty courtesan upon whom Ingmar's favor had landed. Deryne pitied the girl; she was probably only a few years older than the squire, and as trapped in Roger's web as the rest of them. Deryne did not miss the smile the chancellor gave Orbea, who smiled demurely in return despite an obvious pallor that betrayed her unease. But Deryne was not here to aid unfortunate damsels, but to ferret out more about the mysterious ally; she was as ready as she would ever be to confront the immortal and his new master.

When she was greeted, she gave the best smile she could to the consort before sinking into a low curtsy, hoping she would not fall. Her mind was completely sealed to any sort of magic… she did not want the Gotzane setting her off balance again.

"Your Majesty. Your Ladyship. Your Lordship. Master Tezock." Her gaze slid from Ingmar to Tezock, passing over Roger completely. "Your demonstration was remarkable." He eyed her for a moment, before nodding deeply.

"You are a mage yourself." His voice was a hushing scrape against her ears, alluring and agonizing in the same breath. His cool assumption sent ice through her veins. His black eyes seemed to grow hungrily as he continued. "Of great power. _Unique-_" He gestured off a way, and Deryne knew instantly that he wanted to speak with her. She was torn, torn between apprehension and eagerness… she _was_ curious, of course…

"Perhaps later you may discuss matters with the young Tortallan," Roger interjected smoothly, gaze on the next person waiting a greeting. Tezock cast a hand in dismissal.

"I will greet mundanes later, Lord Chancellor," he said disinterestedly, eyes fixed on Deryne. The squire warmed to the terrifying immortal as a faint frown crossed Roger's face.

"Orbea, show the squire the refreshments. Lord Tezock will approach you later, if he still feels the urge," he ordered, voice growing snappish. Deryne watched, interested, as Lady Orbea curtsied.

"It will be done, my lord," she murmured, but, with a small smile, Deryne shook her head.

"I'll wait here," she suggested pleasantly. Roger's mask cracked; he fixed her with a cold stare that confirmed her suspicions. He didn't _want _her talking with Tezock.

"Then such a hindrance and proximity will be interpreted as either interference or a threat to his Majesty," he retorted. "Orbea, escort her to the drinks. _Now._"

* * *

"Go," Han said lowly, face expressionless as he absorbed the news the stones beneath them gave. His three, tense companions peered about as Rikash opened the sack they had pilfered from the laundry and tugged out a nobleman's overcoat to put over his black breeches and white shirt; when they had entered through the servants' entrance, the chamber lord had sniffed at their formal, well-made attire, but had appeared to attach no importance to it. Now, with the single earring and midnight blue, embroidered jacket, Rikash could pass for a younger son or adept of one of the many mages employed by King Ingmar. Han cast a glance over them; Kol looked the most anxious. Of course, he was worried about his sister… wherever she was. Rikash looked pointedly at the other sack in Han's hands, with a similar robe for the other mage.

"Are you coming?" he asked edgily. Han gestured towards the grand hall.

"I will follow," he promised. "It will take several minutes to find Deryne and Cyne; there are three halls, and- of course- the Tortallans and the Kyprians are on opposite sides."

"And Tezock?" Rikash asked, lips pressed tightly together as he waited for the reply. Han shrugged.

"Anywhere."

"Can't you find him with the… stone magic?" Damek queried. Rikash looked annoyed; Han was prepared to bet that the blond firemage had been on the verge of asking the same question.

"I'd rather not," he replied. "Not without setting my peepers on 'im first. Go on, Ri; be nice, will you?" Rikash rolled his eyes.

"Wouldn't dream of anything else, Ma," he retorted before spinning around. As the first of their group walked away, Han's eyes fell on Kol again; the boy was fidgeting.

Han liked him, but he wanted somebody to keep an eye on him… which is what he whispered to Damek before they had left for Frasluk. The earth mage turned to the Kyprian.

"Do you want me to go about for Roger and Tezock?" he asked lowly, holding up the sack. "You could find Cyne-" Damek's eyes slid over Han's shoulder to the corridor beyond, from where the sounds of laughter and talking echoed. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he shook his head.

"Rikash was right; this _is _my specialty. It would be hard to find a cover story for me, when I'm obviously not Scanran. I'd attract attention, and if someone asked any questions, I'd be stuck. Besides, there's no need to get yourself in trouble for snooping- and someone will need to keep Rikash from going off at any Scanrans." Han's lips twitched.

"_Now _you've got a measure of him." Damek shrugged, gazing at the green and gold tunic Han tugged from his sack.

"I've had my fill of great magics for some time," he said candidly. Kol had taken a few steps off to the side and now stared at a tapestry on the wall studiously. Han raised his eyebrows.

"Of Cyne, too?" Damek scratched the back of his head.

"I don't know," he said wearily. "But this is not the time, or place." Han nodded, quietly filing his sudden whirl of thoughts away for future use as he tugged the shirt on.

"I'll send him off," Damek muttered, gazing flicking to Kol and back to Han. "Watch for a few moments, and then find Tezock's chambers."

"Good." Han clasped his friend on the shoulder. "See you back at the house," he murmured, then turned. Numair had warned them, several times, to keep their wits about them.

They were in the lion's den now, and if they were caught, it would be by the grace of the Lord Chancellor that they escaped with their lives.

* * *

Rikash shook his head as he maneuvered his way through the crowds; there was a main chamber, larger than several training yards put together, and at least four antechambers branching off, and people were _everywhere_- He approached the center of the room and broke free of the crowds milling around and into the place cleared for those dancing; he made a hasty retreat, cursing to himself as several forward young women noticed his lack of a partner and stepped towards him. Sweating, he glowered at a petite brunette and made his way to the wall, which he followed; there was a break in the crowd ahead, where several windows had inexplicably been opened to the cold winter air.

His suspicions proved correct; Deryne stood with her back to one of the windows, ignoring the glares from shivering passer-bys. He smiled.

_I'll have to remember that for the next ball I attend. _Not that he ever did attend them, with all the loud people and carousing frivolity of fools with nothing better to do- no, he kept the kingdom safe so they could keep to their fine clothes and jewels.

He was uncertain how he felt about seeing her again. If only he knew how she would act, he would not feel so awkward. There would be no heartfelt reunion with meaningless greetings and embraces; it would not feel right. Besides, they had not been on very good terms... and had never really said goodbye before parting, either.... It was just another day of service to Tortall, even if it had been weeks since they had seen each other. As he approached, Han's reproach from several weeks past sprang unbidden to his mind, chastising him.

_I am _not _a skittish yearling. _If he and Deryne fell out of sorts again, Han would laugh with Damek about it; Rikash was determined that tonight, at least, they would get along. He straightened as he strode towards her, noting her flushed cheeks and uncomfortable expression as she listened to her _gudruna_. Rikash could tell she was letting the winds fly through her; he had known her too long not to recognize that distant pensiveness, as though she was wistfully recalling something from her past…. He watched as she shifted slightly, face changing- she had heard something of interest on the winds, something that pleased her, from the tiny curve at the corners of her lips. Her head turned towards him, and her eyes opened; her smile widened, and Rikash felt his own mouth tugging in response.

He was at her side; a simple, unnecessarily formal nod was exchanged to lessen any curiosity onlookers might have towards the intimacy between the Tortallan and the nameless, unfamiliar Scanran adept. As she meet his gaze, her pale eyes glittered, and Rikash could not think of a greeting to give her.

"It is warm in here, isn't it?" he observed. Rolling her eyes cheerfully, Deryne groaned in agreement, tilting her head back, then smirked, as though it was any other day back in Tortall… _before _they had fallen out of sorts. Rikash felt a wave of relief race through him; at least his first ordeal was over. Her dark curls dangled down as she leaned against the windowsill, arching her neck so that she could better feel the frigid air outside. Rikash suspected that she would have sat on the sill with her feet over the side if it would not cause a stir among the matrons bustling about.

"I suppose you're quite at home." He was grateful that she was at unusual ease; whatever trouble Malvyn had stirred up, it appeared to have endeared her to him, rather than make her decide that her old friend was yet another nuisance conjured by the gods to bother her.

"On the contrary," he retorted, casting a wary glance around. "Too many people. You can't see a man before he's snuck up on you." Deryne snorted.

"Of all the diversions before you, you can only imagine folk assailing you." He shrugged, and her lips curled with incredulous amusement, an expression he had not seen on her face in a very long time. He wondered, for a moment, if he was in a dream, so unreal were his surroundings… but he would enjoy this, a renewal of their old comradeship, while it lasted. "Merriment abounds- and all your mind can conjure is paranoia."

"You're exactly the same," Rikash volleyed back, and her small smile told him she was in agreement with him. Then he cleared his throat; he should not waste time with pleasantries. "What's the trouble?" he murmured, knowing very well that she could hear the faintest whisper across the chaotic hall. Even though her expression did not change, he sensed a shift in her emotions; her eyes were no longer playful when they locked with his.

"Tezock," she whispered back. Rikash raised an eyebrow.

"So I surmised." A soft laugh escaped her; she raised a hand to her face. It was only then that he noticed the dainty glass in her other hand. No wonder she was being so friendly. "Too much punch, Queenscove?" She snorted, then downed the rest of the liquid in a ladylike sip.

"Too little," she retorted, biting her lip as she stared out over the crowds. "I remain as sharp as ever, Salmalin- although I'm beginning to wonder how sharp that really is." She jerked her head to the right. "I _know _Roger's separating me and Cyne… _but_, more importantly, I believe, is how he works to separate me from _Tezock_." Rikash frowned.

"You mean he isn't showing off his little friend to you?" he asked. She nodded grimly.

"Now that I've got my fears in hand," she said with a dry little grin. "I tried to approach the Gotzane, and he seemed intrigued by me- but the Lord Chancellor sent us each our own ways… a little too eagerly, if you ask me."

"Why would he be intrigued?" Rikash asked sharply. "You're just a squire-" Deryne's laugh was loud and slow.

"Oh… _now _we come to the amusing bit," she told him, gazing into the bottom of the glass she held in her fingertips. Her grip tightened as she turned to her friend. "He _knows_, Ri," she said softly, and a chill raced over him from the look in her eyes. "About my… powers." Before Rikash could speak, she continued with a wryness that betrayed her shock. "Gods above, he _has _them." The blond mage stared down at his shorter friend for a stunned moment. She cocked an eyebrow. "Now there's something I don't get to do every day; strike you silent. But it gets better; he sensed me, but I'm not certain how much before I blocked the _gudruna _from me." Her lips twisted. "And, before we broke, I'm certain I felt more than _my _magic… he has more than just my-" She broke off, taking a sip from her empty glass before she glanced down at it, bemused. Then she sighed, raising her hand to her temples once more. "I cannot use the _gudruna _around him, Ri; he silences them, smothers them- as invisible to me as a black moth in the darkest night." She laughed hollowly. "More so, even." She glanced back up at Rikash's aghast face. She lifted her arms in a helpless shrug. "I have _nothing _against him_._" His jaw set at the resigned moroseness that clearly weighed heavily on her.

"You might not, but the rest of us are ready for him," he said grimly. "And, in the meantime, you'll just have to become accustomed to using your eyes again." Deryne glowered.

"Not funny, Ri." He suppressed his sudden irritation; he had been _trying _to help. The fault Han seemed so determined to put on him for their disputes was not _entirely_ his!

"Another time, another place, and you would find it very entertaining."

"But it isn't," she retorted, crossing her arms. Despite the childish pose, Rikash could not help but notice the haughty regality of her figure, garbed in elegant, tasteful clothes which brought a no-nonsense air about her.

"Perhaps not," he allowed, wondering when Han would find them; he should have, by now….

"And so we are forced to suffer through the evening," Deryne sighed. "I must find Tezock… and you ought to socialize, find out what you can." She gave him a sly look, then nodded in the direction of several Marenites. "I'm sure the women will reveal more to your dashing figure than to mine." Rikash raised his eyebrows in reply.

"I am _not _my father," he remarked dryly. She chuckled.

"Certainly not; one would assume _you _to be the prickly old man." Rikash scowled.

"I have been patient thus far," he said warningly. She snorted, sinking back onto the windowsill.

"Then go and find a young woman who _won't _tax you so much." Her eyes twinkled. "Go on, then; ask someone to dance." Rikash glared, and a small smile curled across her lips. "I _dare _you. Surely you haven't completely forgotten how to?" She spread her hands to gesture to the enormous room before them. "I'm certain you can find _one _who won't turn you down." There it was, that almost suppressed smirk; she was laughing at him. Rikash's eyes narrowed. Now she would never leave him alone-

Unless _he _got the better of _her. _An idea blossomed in his mind, and he smirked back at her.

_This will fix her, _he thought triumphantly as he bowed deeply.

"Will you dance with me, then, my lady?" he drawled mockingly, laughing at her to himself. _I've beaten her at her own game this time. _A rush of excitement intoxicated him. No wonder she enjoyed taunting him so much; the power he felt when angry was negligible compared to this satisfaction…. "Surely _you _have not forgotten?"

When he looked up, he started, his savage glee arrested at the sight of her pale face; she was sickly white as she placed her empty glass upon the sill. When Rikash took a step towards her, she nearly backed into a debutante speaking with her suitor. Alarmed, he noticed how her hands shook; she saw his gaze and clasped them tightly together.

"I fear my memory is worse than yours," she whispered. Then, before he could reply, she was gone, weaving off through the crowd, as quickly as she could in the pressed masses. As Rikash stared after her, Han appeared at his side. The blond mage glowered at his friend.

"Where _were _you?" he demanded heatedly as Han picked up her discarded glass and studied it. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he perused it. "That was worse timing than the time when I got walloped by that Shadow masquerading as a hurrok." Frustrated by the lack of a response, he added, "And now Deryne's off and worried again-"

"It matters little," Han answered calmly. The glass began to blur before Rikash's eyes.

"Oh, really? And why's that?" Rikash watched as Deryne's dark head swept through the chaos; he saw her pause by another set of open windows.

"Because _you _are going after her." Rikash glared at Han.

"Absolutely _not_," he retorted. "No, _this _would be your job-"

"It's about time you figured out how to pick up the pieces yourself," his friend retorted, eyeing the blur in his hands. "I shouldn't always have to do the dirty work." A small noise of protest escaped Rikash.

"Why do _I _have to do it?" he repeated indignantly. Han's eyes never left the glass; as he gazed, the glass reformed, this time as a crystal goblet; he held it up to the light, admiring the colors produced by the shimmering glass.

"Because I am not," he answered calmly, tilting the crystal this way and that. Rikash scowled.

"And why aren't you?" he demanded doggedly. A small smile crept across Han's face.

"Because you are." Rikash glowered.

"That makes about as much sense as a sow with wings," he said sourly. Han's smile grew.

"Exactly. And it is impossible to argue with the impossible, isn't it?" he queried, sounding as though he was on the verge of a laugh, which irritated his friend even more.

"Country boy turned philosopher," Rikash growled. "I never would have believed it." Han ignored him.

"I thought you were going to prove you were _not _a skittish yearling," he replied, voice suspiciously neutral. "Besides, you _want _to talk with her. She really isn't that scary, except on Yama's Festival. And at that time, you're just as scary, catching flame and all." Rikash glared once more, then turned, frustration and fury boiling inside of him as he bumped into a wiry man in his flight from his friend. He strode onwards, but a cold hand wrapped itself around his wrist, dousing his rage as water drowns a fire. He tried to slide away, but he was stuck.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not see you," a dangerously soft voice spoke in his ear, and Rikash spun, eyes wide, to a man with skin as white as snow, and eyes as dark as the pits of Chaos.

* * *

_AN: Okay, I have many things to do, BUT right now, I'm on a roll, because of this cliffie, SO reviews WILL help me decide that writing THIS is more important than my history paper.... OR, at least, encourage me to hurry up with the paper on the impact of the Korean war... eeee.... ;D_


	13. Chapter 12: Old Friends

AN: Oh dear... I'm in quite a spot of trouble, aren't I? Before you throw those rotten tomatoes you've been saving for, oh, more than a month, I apologize... and tell you I will have another chapter tomorrow, and maybe one for the day after that. I won't promise, because if I promise anything ever again on ffn, I have a feeling I will be pelted with stale carrots. Thanks to my reviewers, who were patient with me last time and might have possibly been patient this time... hopefully?

* * *

_Chapter 12_

_Old Friends_

Rikash swallowed heavily as the unmistakable immortal smiled, his white teeth shining with a sharp, feral gleam, his eyes bright with a contained, wild excitement.

"I am surprised to see you here," the Gotzane admitted, as though he spoke to a confidant, and Rikash frowned, instinctively pulling away; the Gotzane's iron grip kept him from recoiling completely. "But this proves your existence is no coincidence," he added, drawing closer as he looked up into Rikash's bewildered eyes. How did Tezock know him? The fire mage felt numb to everything except those cold fingers that clutched him, as though they could absorb his spark of vitality if they gripped tightly enough. "We will speak soon," he promised quietly. Held in a stunned stupor by the immortal's fervent, dominating presence, Rikash did not notice Tezock had released him until the creature backed away with a deep nod and disappeared among the throngs. He inhaled shakily, then glanced around, hoping Deryne had not moved. He thanked Yama when he saw that she was still there, contemplating the night, her back to the ballroom's proceedings.

He walked through several dancing couples and curious gazes, trying and failing to come up with something to say. _He hadn't done anything. _Sometimes- honestly, most of the time- he could see where Han was coming from when he angered Deryne. He corrected himself then. No, he didn't _anger _her… that was not the right word. He thought of the tired expression she gave him after the heat of a fight, the sigh she directed at him, the exhausted shake of the head… he upset her, but most of all, he wore her out; she didn't have the energy to deal with him. Shame redoubled his efforts to puzzle out an apology, but logic told him there was no point. When he reached her for the second time this evening, he sat on the new windowsill and crossed his arms as he silently glared at the floor.

"It's hard to apologize, isn't it?" she murmured, and Rikash glowered, whipping around to face her.

"It's easier when there's something to be sorry _for_," he snapped, and Deryne stirred, turning her head towards him. She was grimacing.

"I meant _I _have some explaining to do," she muttered, and her friend's eyes narrowed.

"Really? I was under the impression that _everything _is _always _my fault." She gave him a small smile, but her heart wasn't in it; she gazed back out over the kitchen courtyard, illuminated by the faint glow of the moon.

"I'm trying to put my thoughts in order," she said ruefully. "I knew I'd have to do this eventually." Rikash raised his eyebrows in question, even though she was not looking at him; he figured her _gudruna _would probably tell her, anyway. A long exhalation left her lips, a soft, drawn out sound that emptied her lungs completely for an entirely fresh breath of air.

"The night Roger possessed Inar, and abducted me," she began, holding out a hand to silence Rikash when he promptly started to speak. "No, I'm not leaving you to your own conjectures this time," she whispered, shaking her head. "You will hear everything. It was the night of the ball-" Rikash swore.

"No wonder you _hate _me-"

"I don't hate you," Deryne replied, her honest surprise evident in her instant retort. "Ri, I hate _Roger_. And _Malvyn_." She paused, pinching her lip between her teeth. "And Yama's Festival," she muttered. "Because _I _let my guard down, after we had danced, and he-" She stopped.

"You shouldn't have had to have your guard up in the first place," Rikash growled, irked with himself again; he had lost count of the number of times he had berated himself for his stupidity. Malvyn had manipulated his trust in every way he possibly could have as he used Rikash to give the mage enough time to deliver his final, fatal blow. Deryne shook her head.

"I've made my peace with my caution's necessity." She gestured to the levity behind them. "I just- dancing with him, _that _night-" As her eyes fell shut with a bitter finality, Rikash's jaw dropped as he finally realized….

"You two were never-" He blinked as Deryne's jaw set. "-we thought you had both been…," he trailed off feebly, not daring to put words to whatever it had been. But he had assumed they had reached some sort of understanding long before that fateful night, from the way they looked at each other, the way he had touched her- "For weeks. _Months_, even-" His mouth snapped closed when Deryne scrunched her eyes shut tightly, her teeth gritted together.

"That night was the first time he and I kissed," she whispered, voice shaky. Rikash cursed himself; he had never been good in these tearful kinds of moments. He was _useless. _He glanced around quickly. Where was Han? That earth-mage knew very well that Rikash would be- _was- _at a loss. Feeling betrayed by his own sex, he turned back to Deryne, who was running a hand over her eyes. He saw the glint of wetness on her fingers and his heart sank; he really was _no _help- he had made her _cry_, this time… as far as he knew, out of all the horrible things he had done, he had never done _that _before.

_Brilliant, Salmalin, _he congratulated himself. His oldest friend was turning into a leaky dam, and _he _could do nothing but stand there staring, dumbfounded and edgy as her thoughts and feelings were opened for his inspection. Was this how she felt every time she listened to the wind, rare emotion and uncensored thought spilling into her lap? He didn't know how she could stand it. He felt as though he would go insane. He needed her to _stop_, because her grief tore at him, reproaching him for bearing witness to it…. He nodded across the room.

"I'll go ask that simpering blonde over there to dance, then," he said stupidly, calling himself a hundred different names as the words left his mouth, but Deryne chuckled. The relief that flooded through him made him feel even worse.

"We used to put frogs in the beds of folk like her," she mused, turning to find the debutante to whom he pointed. "Remember setting fire to those bed curtains?" Rikash snorted.

"Da nearly whipped me," he told her. He cocked his head to the side as his gaze slid to her. "I never did tell you that, did I? Ma made me do the laundry instead." He grimaced. "I think I would have preferred the beating." Deryne shook her head.

"No, you wouldn't have." Rikash shrugged, refraining from arguing pointlessly with her, especially not when she had been crying a moment before. He suspected that she noticed his refusal to be provoked; her lips twisted into a wry, half-smile. "I've missed our exciting duels."

"I'm sure." Sarcasm dripped from his words. She laughed again, louder this time.

"Don't tell me _you _haven't." He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I've missed you. Happy?" She smirked.

"Actually, I'm waiting with baited breath," she confided, eyes twinkling humorously. "I imagine you'll lose your temper over some little thing and storm off in a matter of moments, as usual." That stung. Turning from her cheerful face with a bitter taste in his mouth, Rikash glowered and, for a spilt second, considered doing just that. She threw everything he did back in his face, out of spite. He was grateful to Han, now… if he hadn't practically dared Rikash to be more civil towards Deryne, he never would have been so certain that their fights were _not _his fault. Then he crossed his arms.

"Well, keep it up, and I'll probably set fire to something as I'm leaving, too," he snapped out, voice icy. He was waiting for Han to show up; their friend had an uncanny ability to appear at just the right moment, and that moment was _now_.

They stood silently for a very long moment. He resisted the insistent urge to glance at her.

"The world's been set on end," she muttered. "You're humoring _me._" There was a dry edge to her voice. "When did _that _happen?" Rikash's answer surprised him.

"When _you _decided to act like me, and I decided to grow a little," he retorted, soft, bitter venom in his last few words. He dared to chance a glance at her; when her steady gaze met his, his stare fled to the brightly moving figures before them.

"I see." Another soft laugh, and Rikash realized with a jolt that she was mocking _herself_. He whipped around, locking eyes with her. She gave him a tiny smile. "I guess I'm fair lucky, then, eh?" She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly before pulling back again. "Th-"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Every muscle in Rikash's body stiffened. He could not restrain the rush of fiery magic that thundered through him as alarms shrieked in his mind. Deryne spun to face the speaker, taking a step backwards so that she was right beside her friend as they turned on the Lord Chancellor. Roger smiled as kindly as a fox bearing down on a flock of chicks. "I have not seen you in court before, young man," he told Rikash benevolently. "But you _do _seem familiar-"

"It is easy to mistake strangers for old friends," Rikash retorted darkly. "And even easier to mistake them for old foes." Deryne gripped his wrist, but he ignored the touch, drawing himself up to Roger's height as he glared. His blood sang for revenge, and he was acutely aware of every scar stretched taunt against his pale skin; he had told the healer to keep them after he was patched up after his battle with Malvyn… who had been taking orders from Roger, who later stole the body of the very man who brought him back to life….

He felt like he was back in the Black Caverns, fighting for his life on the floor littered with shards of glass; everything came back to him as he stared into those cold blue eyes…. The pain and the rage and the sense of betrayal….

"The last time I saw you, Salmalin," Roger said slowly. "You would not allow a girl-child to bring you to heel." Rikash's fists clenched tightly, but Deryne hastily stepped between the two, eyes blazing even as she laid a gentle hand on her friend's chest.

"This _girl-child _will rip your carcass to pieces if you don't start talking," she hissed, sticking her face in his. "Who is that damned beastie you've hired as a mercenary?" Rikash was gratified when the chancellor took a measured step backwards, studying the pair with his revolting smile still in place.

"How endearing," he commented, gaze lazy as it played across Rikash's face. "She defends you now. This year must have been a hard one, if she turns to you now." The youth flushed with anger, but this time he was the one restrain his friend; Deryne's hand was raised at a threatening angle, poised to strike the man across the face. Roger raised an eyebrow.

"I say," the chancellor murmured. "That would _not _look good for our neighbors to the south, would it?" At those words, Deryne's hand dropped like a stone through water, but her expression did not change.

"What do you want, Roger?" she hissed, and he chuckled.

"I wanted to see how my guests are enjoying the night," he answered, winking at Rikash, whose jaw twitched. "Even the uninvited ones. Where is the street rat? I imagine he's never too far from the other three of you." The only reply he received was a silent glower. Rikash's obstinacy only seemed to amuse him further. "No matter; I will find out, soon enough…." He cleared his throat as two other men joined him. "Captain Reuthsak," he said, gesturing to the first, whose smile was as cold as the chancellor's. The messenger. Rikash bit down a scowl; if Deryne had only listen to his mind when there had been a _chance._ "A familiar face," Roger added with a chuckle before pointing to the second. "And Warlord Jekriad, one of the old clan leaders. Squire Deryne of Queenscove of Tortall, and Adept Malvyn of our own realm." Relief that Roger would protect his identity was followed swiftly by shocked repulsion of the use of the old alias of his enemy, leaving Rikash speechless as Jekriad nodded with a disapproving frown; the warlord ran a hand through his white hair.

"The Marenite Duke wishes to discuss-" Roger waved a hand sharply, cutting him off; Rikash recognized the gesture. Malvyn had used it often when he had directed his numerous followers at the university, including Rikash himself. His stomach twisted in nausea and disgust.

"I am meeting the youth of our nations," he said jovially; only Deryne and Rikash could tell his eyes-fixed on them- were mocking. "And now, if I dare to steal her away, Adept-" He seized Deryne's hand in a startling quick motion; Rikash only barely managed to stop himself from springing at the man. The chancellor bowed over it elegantly, looked up with a cruel smile twisting his features. "-I would love to dance, my lady."

Rikash stared at the man, aghast.

Did he know her last dance had been with Inar?

Of course he did; that malevolent smirk told Rikash that. And any memories Inar had had were his, too…. Coldness shot through his veins, dousing any rising fury with the sheer cruelty of the man before them. Deryne was just as wide-eyed with horror, mouth partly open… surely she was considering the insult it would be to refuse, when the chancellor's cronies were at his side, waiting on her response.

"I'm afraid," a light, casual voice replied, and Rikash felt his muscles stir again. "I have already claimed this dance." Somehow Han appeared between Roger and Deryne; his large hand eased hers out of Roger's grasp as he bowed to the man. "My Lord Chancellor." A glint of emotion entered the chancellor's eyes; anger, perhaps? Rikash felt a smug, vengeful smile cross his face; thank the Gods for Han. He shot a grateful look at his friend, but Han was watching Roger thoughtfully. "My apologies." The chancellor straightened, his uncoiling body reminding Rikash of a cobra poised to strike.

"I will have to catch you later, Squire," their foe replied as he cast his eyes across the room; Rikash could tell his disinterest was feigned by the tense set of his shoulders. "Be assured, I will be watching- ready to claim the honor of dancing the moment your gallant rescuers take their leave." His idle drawl scared Rikash more than his rage would have. The chancellor was right; eventually, they would have to leave her to him and, even if she evaded Roger tonight, there would be a whole host of gatherings for him to seize his chance to taunt her further. "Excuse me." He bowed and strode away, cronies trailing in his wake. Deryne sagged as they vanished, leaning gingerly on Rikash for a moment before she sank back onto the windowsill.

"Dear Gods above," she whispered, clenching Han's hand like a lifeline. He sat down beside her, eyes narrowed as he frowned with concern.

"You're drained," he observed, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Tezock is terrifying, but this is not like you-" As Deryne cut him off to explain, Rikash silently debated whether or not to sit on her other side and finally decided to stay where he was, standing over his two friends. He felt like an ungainly snoop; without Han, she would be in Roger's arms, twisting and twirling as he mocked her. He had to press his lips tightly together to suppress the expletive on the tip of his tongue; he had been as stunned as she had been, and altogether an abysmal friend-

If only he had a coin for every time he thanked the Gods for Han…. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of any thoughts as he turned back to Deryne.

"He _sucks _the _gudruna _out of the air," she was saying tersely. "The breezes race through _me_- they give me information, and then they go on their own way… but when they go to him-" She shuddered. "-there's a void; I can't touch him, and I- as much as I want to doubt it- I think he used some sort of _sekali _to kill those men." Rikash made the Sign against his chest; the power made him shiver enough when _she _used it.

Han rose, turning his head this way and that.

"I'll find him; I should listen to what the stones think about this immortal," he said. He tugged on Deryne's fingers, and as she stood, he placed her hand in Rikash's. "Dance, but don't leave or do anything exciting until I return, all right?" His lips twitched as Rikash stared, astonished. "He might need a little instruction, but he probably won't step on your toes, Deryne." Their friend ducked her head; Rikash shook his head.

"We don't have to," he said lamely, remembering when he had asked her in the first place. He was surprised when she jerked her head in the direction of other dancers.

"And miss this opportunity to humiliate you?" she asked lightly as they left Han behind. She lowered her voice as it turned resigned. "I'll have to do this sometime… and I might as well now- better you than Roger." Rikash ground his teeth together as she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Make sure you don't crush my feet." He snorted.

"Your _gudruna _would tell you when to get out of the way," he retorted, irked. "And I might be out of practice, but I'm not clumsy." Still, he felt hobbled, his movement stilted; Deryne had a grace that could only come from knowing every motion around her before it was enacted- she flowed across the floor, unconsciously weaving, shifting in an endless dance that baffled him. He understood the steps and performed them, but there was no way to imitate the way she moved, in sync with all her surroundings like she had done in a thousand times over. Every time he met her pale eyes, she raised her eyebrows, as though she dared him to speak; he spent most of the time looking out over the crowd, at the flashy colors and the blasted noise- he couldn't think in the melee.

He was caught by surprise when a delicate young woman dressed in blue and bedecked with silver appeared at their side, putting a hand on Deryne. Rikash scowled, but before he could say anything, his friend held up a hand to quiet him. Her eyes narrowed as she locked gazes with the silent courtier, then widened.

"I'll see you later," Deryne whispered without looking at him as she stepped back. He stared from her to the mysterious girl, who now took hold of the squire's hand. The lady's eyes flickered over him, then fastened themselves meekly on the floor; her face gave nothing away, which made him all the more suspicious. He glared through the curtain of blond ringlets she kept between them, but divined no secrets.

"What-" This time, Deryne pressed a finger to his lips; he froze as the blonde made her exit, sliding in between couples as she weaved away from them.

"Later," Deryne replied casually, as though no strange occurrences were unfolding. He glowered. She patted his arm, gray eyes fixed on his- it was something important enough that she didn't dare speak; had that girl used the _gudruna _to talk to his friend? He could not come up with another explanation… he had a feeling that she would tell him, mind-to-mind, if he would let her….

He took a breath, reaching out with his mind, knowing that she would hear the first unprotected thought he allowed to escape from his mind-

And pulled back; his mind shut tighter than a steel trap as he lost his nerve- didn't he remember _why _he didn't let her in?

She had sensed his refusal; he saw disappointment flicker in her eyes before she turned away.

"Later," she promised, and set off. Rikash watched her for a moment, debating whether he should follow her, when she vanished from his sight.

* * *

AN: Yes... abuse me for this lackadaisical effort... but since I'm posting again tomorrow, I figured I should end here for now...Again, I am sorry... and hope that someone remembers this story...


	14. Chapter 13: Enough For One Night

AN: Okay, "tomorrow night" became Monday night... but I'm still done in less than a week, and I'm hoping this wait was worth it- I'm pretty sure it is... ;D Hopefully you guys agree- thanks to **Suguri**, **PurpleBookWorm**, **SarahE7191**, and **Shang Leopard **for reviewing!

* * *

_Chapter 13_

_Enough For One Night_

Kol unlocked the entrance to his sister's chambers; he had nicked the key off of one of his tipsy menservants- no one would notice its disappearance. He pushed the door open gingerly, peering in cautiously.

Everything was dark. The quiet encouraged him to creep inside and ease the door shut behind him. Still no sound. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then made his way across the room.

"Bea, Bea," he whispered, tempted to curl up on her bed until she arrived… but that would be a terrible idea, if all he had discovered was true…. "So much has happened since I left," he observed as he approached the door to the adjacent chambers and put his hand on the knocker. He hardly believed the news when he had heard it. What had she done without him, all these months and years? "I'm here now-" His murmur turned into a yelp as hands grabbed him, silenced him. He kicked and bit, squirming out of the callused grip that held him. Someone cursed.

"Damned brat-" Kol could make out the gleam of mail- the Palace Guard- he leapt across the mattress, hit the stone floor racing towards the door- "Stop him-" He yanked open the door, evading the diving guards only to jump into the hands of the men waiting for him.

* * *

Deryne followed the Lady Orbea through the crowd, pausing every once in awhile to avoid arousing suspicions; still, the woman's thoughts left her fists tense with anticipation as questions whirled around in her head.

_You're in danger, Deryne of Queenscove. _The warning itself was not half so troubling as its source; she had everything to lose if it was discovered she was speaking with Deryne. _I cannot say anymore here- they are listening. Follow me. _Her thought had been projected; how had she known about the _gudruna_? Why would she, consort of the king, come to speak with a Tortallan squire? And who was listening?

Who _could _listen to the winds? The answer formed in Deryne's mind on the heels of the question.

_Tezock. _Perhaps she could find out what she needed to know from this Scanran courtier….

The blonde entered the main hall of the banquet and strode towards the open double doors that led into the gardens. Deryne strolled across the tiled floor, forcing herself to take her time; she even paused for a drink before pretending to contemplate the night. Then she rested the glass on a small table and made her way towards the chilly, open air.

Outside, she allowed her mind guards to drop; free of the inane chatter of the indoors, she allowed the _gudruna _to stream through her- they told her which path Orbea had taken through the tall hedges. Deryne began to walk quickly, goose bumps rising on her skin; it was freezing, and her gown was not designed for warmth. She listened to the wind's whispers as the lady turned once, twice, then finally stopped.

Everything was still, perfectly so- her _gudruna _picked up less and less as she moved forwards through the darkness; holding out a hand, she summoned her magic, and her fingers shone with a pale light.

Orbea was waiting, her calm façade gone; she was biting her lip, and her brow was furrowed as Deryne approached her. They were in a cul-de-sac; the only way out was the way they had come.

"I cannot stay long," she murmured. "But you have to leave Scanra." Deryne shook her head, and Orbea's eyes widened. "No- you don't understand-"

"You're right," the squire whispered, staring into the alarmed blue eyes. "Which is why _you _have to tell me what is going on!" The woman grabbed her arm.

"Listen to me," she said quietly. "I know very little myself- but enough to know that the Lord Chancellor has no love for you."

"I know _that_," Deryne muttered. "But who is _Tezo-_"

"Hush!" Orbea thrust a hand over the squire's mouth. "The immortal's name is enchanted; whenever it is spoke of within the walls of Frasluk, Heolstor knows." Deryne frowned.

"What is he, then?" The lady bit her lip, Deryne quelled the sense of urgency that rose as she thought of the executions. "My lady, I _must _know!"

"He is from the north- an island-" Again: information she had heard before-

"_Where?_" Orbea shook her head.

"An island-"

"Tortall has had many explorers traverse the northern seas!" Deryne hissed. "There is no map I know of that shows such a place!"

"It is enchanted; only his kind can find their way there," the woman replied. "It does not exist, except to those who have his magic."

"The magic," Deryne prompted. "What is it?" She put a hand on Orbea's shoulder. The courtier's gaze fell. "_Orbea-_"

"He can hear thoughts, as you can." The squire nearly released the woman in surprise.

"How did you know-"

"He can rip a man apart with a look," she continued, her head bowed. "Some sort of spell- a _sekali_, I have heard them call it-" Ice filled Deryne's veins; she had suspected… but now, if Orbea was to be trusted, she was proven correct. She swore softly.

"Frejonak preserve us," she whispered. It was _his _magic, as it was hers- the strength of the wind. The north god had blessed her with his gift of power… had he given it to Tezock, too? If so, _why? _"How many know what I can do?" Orbea hesitated.

"The Chancellor… and the king…." With mention of Roger again, Deryne sent out a wave of _gudruna _to reassure her that there was no one nearby who could eavesdrop; she was answered by silence- no a motion nor whisper betrayed the presence of any.

"Does _Tez-_"

"Don't say his _name!_" she hissed.

"Does he know?" Deryne countered heatedly.

"Gods above, I pray-"

"My lady Orbea." Deryne stiffened; who was it? Why had there been no warning? She sent out another wave of magic, but this too told her nothing. The Scanran woman's face went ashen as she released the squire. Deryne whipped around to see Roger standing on the path between them and the palace. He was smiling. "You are quite resourceful, my dear."

"I-I- please, my lord-" Deryne turned to the stunned blonde, then back to Roger, who took a step towards them.

"Whispering secrets of any kind into the ear of any foreigner- even a potential ally- is an act of treason," he murmured. "But I see no reason to tell our king… yet." He watched her from another moment, waiting for tears of horror to slide down her cheeks. "Wait for me by my chambers," he ordered, gesturing her to leave. Deryne sent out another breeze as Orbea fled past him. The back of her neck prickled in warning; she could feel the courtier as she hurried through the hedges… but only her eyes told her that Roger now stood before her.

Just like Tezock.

She stepped to the side, trying to worm her way past the man, but he only moved with her, blocking off her exit. His eyes twinkled.

"Going somewhere, my little bird?" Deryne retreated slowly, stalling for time; she ignored the urge to spit at his feet- the gesture would only amuse him. She ran what she knew through her head once more.

She had not heard him. She had not sensed him- And her _gudruna still _could not feel him. Tentatively, she sent out a soft breeze; it ruffled his tunic, but if it knew Roger was there, it would not tell her.

She had not lost the wind whispers- they passed through him, towards the statute behind him, and back again as though there was nothing there. As if he were air himself.

"This is one of your tricks," Deryne commented trying to sound scornful as her mind churned furiously. She dared not take her gaze off of him, when her sight seemed to be her only guide.

"Then it is a very good trick, isn't it?" He bared his teeth in a smug grin.

"An illusion. One of your projections," she retorted. Roger chuckled sinisterly, holding her hand out to her.

"I am as real as you," he murmured. "Come here, Queenscove." Shaking, Deryne her head. His lips curled. "There is no reason to fear me; the hunter chooses his time to strike."

"I'd say this is as much your time as it is mine." He shrugged eloquently.

"Perhaps to you." A smile tugged at his cruel lips. "But not to me; we have several steps to dance before I decide you've suffered long enough." Almost against her will, Deryne took a step towards him. "Still afraid, little girl?" Her eyes flashing, she strode over to him, even though she knew it was exactly what he wanted. Looking at his outstretched hand and back into his innocent expression, she touched it with the tips of her fingers. Before she could blink, he brought her hand up to his lips with mocking sincerity. He laughed as she jerked herself away.

"You doubt my chivalry, my lady?" A sharp laugh escaped her.

"Doubtlessly, my lord chancellor." Her eyes narrow. "Who is this Tezock, then?" He only watched her. "It was his spell that's done _this_, hasn't it?" She threw a hand towards him, irritated with his silence. They were past games now, weren't they? "Answer me."

"Do you know why they call these the silent gardens?" he asked instead. His gaze alighted on her before sweeping over their surroundings. "You, of all, should know… the muffling spells make it difficult, if not impossible, to listen in on conversations… and whatever else folk may do." He chuckled. "No one to hear you scream, sweetling."

"Such terms of endearment," Deryne retorted, trying to fight her rising nauseating panic. "Really, I'm touched."

"I'm only whispering the sweet nothings your lover never could," he answered, gaze smug with satisfaction as he saw her stiffen.

"I could blast you where you stand," she whispered. "And I don't need any _gudruna _to do it."

"Careful," he drawled as her fists clenched. "You wouldn't want to land Tortall in trouble because you lost your temper with your magnanimous benefactor." Deryne's eyes glittered with derision.

"How kind of you to give me such good advice," she replied coldly. He nodded somberly.

"My pleasure… love." Her arm lashed out, her fingers arched with dangerous poise as they thrust a _sekali _into the statue past him. It shattered into a cloud of marble dust as she drew herself up to give him the most insolent stare she could muster.

"Oops," she said, unable to suppress the smallest note of triumph creeping into her neutral voice.

For a long moment, Roger watched her, eyes dark. Then, a very slow smile crept across his features. His gaze seemed to glow as his lips curled, sending shivers across her skin. Deryne was too occupied with keeping her stare from wavering to see his hand until it was too late. He struck her across the face, calm smile still in place as she reeled, eyes watering from the stinging blow.

"Oops," he repeated, advancing. Deryne instinctively stepped back, blinking tears back furiously. "Don't run away, my girl; we were having such an entertaining discussion."

"Stay back," she hissed.

"Or you'll do what?" he inquired pleasantly. "There's nowhere left to run," he observed as she backed into the foliage. "Really, accusing me of anything would be equivalent of accusing His Majesty… and if the Tortallans are no longer involved in negotiations on the grounds of such a dismissal, I'll have no other course but to assume Tortall is an enemy… a perfect choice for a _real _demonstration." Deryne felt sick to her stomach as the chancellor approached. "I won't mention that little threat over there," he whispered in a sing-song murmur. "If you don't tell, either." Even as he spoke, the squire felt her smarting skin heal- he had used his Gift on her. She swore to herself. "There. Do we have a deal?" His hand gripped her chin; not wanting to squirm, Deryne just glared into his dark pupils. "That was quite a demonstration of your own just now," he mused aloud, another smile dancing across his lips. "I did not know you could use your little wind arrows on stone." He chuckled. "I love mastering challenges; you keep me from dying of boredom." That was it. Deryne wrenched her face out of his fingers and ducked under his arm as she strode towards her escape.

"Tell Salmalin I send my salutations," was all she heard before he burst into raucous, chilling laughter.

* * *

Tezock drifted among the mortals; he was easy to pick out, since the crowds gave him a wide berth. Cyne watched as the figure garbed in black strolled along, sending plump matrons and hefty warriors alike scurrying.

Still, her sense of curiosity was quickly winning over her caution; surely there was no one better to talk about the immortal than himself?

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she pushed her doubts to the side, rubbed her moist hands on the sleeves of her gown, and stepped forward to intersect the immortal's path.

* * *

Damek's breath caught in his throat as the lock to Roger's personal study clicked; it had taken him such a long time to remove or silence the wards placed on this little room, and he was not certain if the time had been worth it; he would have to move quickly. Careful not to touch anything, he chanted a spell to silence the alarms Roger had set; clearly the man did not known the extent of raka magic- few did.

A glance told him there was far more here than he wanted to know; books with all sorts of gruesome titles lined the shelves, and there were several jars with unidentifiable contents….

And maps. Damek threw a hand over a pile of parchment; this time, when he whispered a few words, ghostly images of the maps rose into the air. He scanned them quickly, face nearly up against the pale light.

"Gotzan," he said, reading a delicate, curly script over an island that appeared to be leagues north of Frasluk. He frowned, peering at the innocuous landmass- it was too large to have been missed by past sea-explorers…. "Let's see if you have any other places I don't know about," he murmured as his eyes fell, running across the Grimhold Mountains, to Corus, where a series of caverns were labeled by symbols he could not pronounce, to the Bazhir desert, where the infamous Black City loomed, again named by unreadable runes, down further south and east, towards Roof of the World…and past the towering mountains, through the Lumuhu and Chitral passes, another splotch of land on the desert, with a name inked above it-

"That's quite enough for one night," a soft voice hissed in Damek's ear, and the map images faded as a hand grabbed his shoulder. Cursing, Damek tried to turn, struggling- he threw an elbow into his assaulter's stomach, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp, but his elation was short-lived; something struck his head hard, and everything went dark.

* * *

"I am impressed by your mettle, Your Highness," Tezock hissed softly as he twirled her across the dance floor; Cyne was struck by his grace, which uncannily reminded her of Deryne…. "Not just any soul would approach me, let alone a young woman. Fewer still would accept an invitation to dance." She could hear the smile in his voice and said nothing; she had not looked directly at him yet- his eyes were chilling enough from afar, lacking the white and the colored iris of mortals. "Your people have my respect for raising one such as you."

"I am nothing remarkable, your lordship," she replied, glancing over his shoulder to where several Kyprian delegates watched worriedly. Merle and Brand looked prepared to dash in at a moment's notice. She smiled at them, but their frowns only deepened; they knew she was trying to assuage their concerns. "You, on the other hand-" His chuckle made her hair stand on end; there was nothing friendly in its caress.

"You are a clever little diplomat, aren't you?" He leaned in closer, his cheek nearly brushing hers; Cyne thrust down the urge to pull away as he breathed in her ear- his breath was cold, as cold as his hands. "Trying to ferret information from me? You charming, daring spy- I could have almost sworn that a mortal had not the nerve to do so…." He laughed quietly again. Cyne ignored the sweat that trickled down her neck as he spoke again. "Perhaps I have a goddess in my arms, in the guise of a young woman?" A strand of his hair brushed up against her face. "Or an elemental, with divine power racing through her?" As he drew back, she could not help following his face with her eyes- suddenly she was trapped by the eerily false, charming smile plastered on his inhuman features. Then his black stare captured hers, and time stopped.

Drowning. Cyne stared into the pits of his dark eyes unsteadily, and a flash of heat, then cold, came over her. Her nightmares crashed down around her, the dark water obliterating the great hall she had been standing in; she could see nothing but the water… and _him_. Tezock. He would not let her go; his eyes seemed to grow, drinking her in, swallowing her whole….

Then he opened his mouth, and an unearthly, sharp cry escaped the well of darkness. The sound grated on her ears, jarred her bones. He released her, and she stumbled backwards as he closed his eyes, breaking the connection.

It took her several moments more to realize he was _laughing_. There were arms around her- Merle, with Brand at her side. But though their voices chattered on and on in her ear, she heard none of it; she could hear no one but Tezock, as he continued to let his terrible laughter loose upon her, wracking her body with unsuppressed glee.

"It _is _true," he hissed as people fell back, putting as much distance as they could between him and them; the immortal scarcely noticed as he stepped towards her, light surfacing from his empty stare. "All _four… _how we will rise!" Another horrible cackle left his lips. "How we will rise- the time has come." He grew larger and larger in Cyne's sight; she tried to close her eyes, tried to remember how to breathe, but she could do neither; her head spun. "The time has come for the Gotzane to rise, and how great and terrible a power we shall be…." He knelt by her side, his gaze somehow softer now- it made Cyne even more alarmed. "All with your aid, my lady," he whispered in her ear, then stood. Dazed, the Kyprian watched as the immortal strode away, again sending people scattering in every direction in their haste to flee his wake.

Merle shook her.

"Cyne!" she snapped. "For gods' sake, get up and get a hold on yourself- it's your own damned fault for playing with fire!"

"Who else is going to play with it if I don't?" the princess responded breathlessly as Merle hauled her up; Brand hovered, watching her with concern in his eyes- it would not be proper for him to help. Merle's impromptu scolding was unorthodox enough as it was.

"Leave the fire for Rikash," the redhead sniffed. "I don't give a rat's ass what happens to him." Brand snorted as Cyne hushed her friend, glancing around at the gathering Kyprian delegates.

"Why haven't they swarmed me yet?" she muttered. Her eyes narrowed. "Not that I'm not grateful for the space-" Her two friends hesitated.

"It's just-" Brand paused as Cyne turned to him. "You look a bit… wary. Alert." Cyne raised eyebrow. He shrugged. "A bit more like when you fought off Kypria-"

"Hush!" Cyne ordered. "There are enough ears, magical or mortal, in Frasluk."

"The point is, nobody messes with anybody who can wield that sort of power," Merle hissed. "And you don't usually look like you handle that sort of magic-"

"Appearances can be deceiving," Cyne muttered.

"Most of the time," Brand commented. "In Merle's case, she's as simple as she looks." His red-haired female friend shot him a filthy glare. "But right now, you look like- like you could summon up a monsoon to drown the whole castle." In the privacy of her own chambers, Cyne might have snorted; here she only rose both eyebrows slightly.

"I have been known to do that," she murmured in a very soft tone before looking around. Tezock's words began to race through her head. Where had Han gone? He had appeared and left again to find Rikash just before she had seen Tezock; the two of them could tell Numair what the immortal had said. "Where-"

Then she caught sight of them, lingering by a nearby window; obviously they had seen the episode, but did not dare rush over. She nodded towards them.

"A little fresh air, perhaps," she said, a little louder than she had intended.

"Of course, Your Highness," Merle replied as she caught sight of the two youths, steering Cyne towards the window. The princess noted with amusement how now onlookers parted for her like they did for Tezock, with an urgency motivated by selfish fear. She shook her head, then met Han's gaze for a moment before looking out into the night.

"Your Highness," Rikash rumbled, bowing. Cyne nodded to both of them.

"Deryne?" she asked quietly.

"Her _gudruna _are bringing her towards us now," Han replied, glancing down at the stone floor. "In the meantime-" He leaned towards her, then away again as a fanfare sounded. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Malvyn likes attention," Rikash grumbled, but Han shook his head with a frown. His green-brown eyes were narrowed.

"I don't-" He fell silent as movement caught their attention on an upper balcony, above the crowd; it was Roger, who looked as smug as any reigning conqueror.

And behind him….

A soft gasp left Cyne's lips; instantly both Brand and Merle were at her sides, supporting her weight as her legs gave out from underneath her.

Behind him, two guards hauled in Damek, his eyes downcast, and his arms tied behind his back.

"Here, my friends and allies," proclaimed the Lord Chancellor. "-here is treachery."

* * *

_AN: And... that's the end of the chapter! _

_Gee, I wonder what happens next? Reviews, pretty please?  
_


	15. Chapter 14: Silent War

_Chapter 14_

_Silent War  
_

For the second time that night, Cyne felt like she was drowning; fear clawed its way up her throat, choking her as the crowd buzzed with exclamations of protest and surprise. Merle pinched her friend.

"Wipe that wimpy stare off your face," she hissed, voice steely. There was no pity in it, though Cyne knew her friend was as stunned as she was. But Merle knew what her princess needed, and it was not sympathy. She straightened, only just managing to keep her face composed. But her mind ran with panic; why was Damek _here_? Wasn't he supposed to _stay behind_?

He must have come with Rikash and Han.

Why hadn't they _told her? _Her gaze flickered over to where the pair had stood, but neither noticed; Han was nudging Rikash away from them. With a jaw-clenching effort, the Kyprian stopped herself from going after them.

"I confess that I am thunderstruck at this lowbrow trickery at such a peace conference," Roger declared; Cyne might have believed his honest face if she had not known better.

"He's a raka!" a voice cried out, and suddenly over a hundred eyes were fixed on her. Numb, she turned her head slowly, surveying the room before her. She thanked the Gods that she had never had a readable face.

"Which is precisely why I doubt that Her Highness Cyne Hetnim has much to do with the incident," the Chancellor interjected smoothly, and Cyne's insides twisted. "It is my guess, Your Highness," he added, bowing from his high pedestal. "-that he was chosen for his appearance, to foster distrust and suspicion and alienate your esteemed people from this alliance." Unable to respond, Cyne inclined her head. "I will not trouble you with this further. But be assured that I will speak to him _personally_." The smile he gave the assembly made Cyne's head spin. "And he _will _tell me the one who sent him."

"Stay right where you are," hissed Merle in her ear.

"I can't," Cyne whispered; tears were gathering in her eyes. What could they do? Damek was a spy, according to the Chancellor- he would be tortured and killed- how could they get him out? Could she- she _had _to-

"You _must_," her red-haired friend snapped.

"Do it for your aunt," Brand muttered. Cyne's teeth clenched together until she thought her jaw would snap. "Do it for the Isles."

She cursed both of them; they knew what they had to say to keep her there. All she wanted to do was run after those guards and-

How long did Damek have before they started to flog him? Before they threw him to the ground and brought out the knives?

How long could he hold up? She closed her eyes. They would do it immediately. Tonight, while she was forced to stay here, under the scrutinizing gaze of the delegations and diplomats. Her every motion would be watched….

She scanned the sea of people before her, but she recognized no one; not a person approached her. With an effort that nearly brought her to her knees, she sighed, then pulled out a bright smile from the depths of her willpower.

"I'm relieved that _that _was sorted out," she said in a carrying but relaxed, causal voice and laughed softly. Then she wandered over to the refreshments and selected a rather large glass.

* * *

"Alan!" Deryne gave him a smile, and he returned it, but they locked worried eyes. He leaned towards her to mutter in her ear.

"Han is sending a message to Numair now, in those gardens." Deryne turned pale.

"They can't do that!" she hissed. "Rog- the Chancellor will-"

"Han and Rikash will be fine; he can't eavesdrop. And he wouldn't dare to approach them both now, when they are on alert." Deryne shook her head; with Tezock nearby, she had an unpleasant suspicion the playing field would be significantly evened out. "Especially with you and Cyne so close." Deryne scowled sourly.

"I doubt he's afraid of us." Alan snorted.

"He'll taunt you as much as he wants, but he can't go after any of you with any real zeal. He knows what you're capable of. He doesn't want a fight out in the open, not here." Deryne's eyes fell. "But that isn't the point." He hesitated. "I wonder if you know what's about to happen." She shook her head, and Alan cast a cursory glance around them. "Tortall is about to be compromised. Greatly," he hissed before straightening to smile at a passing courtier. Once the man walked on, he continued. "About an hour ago, an urgent message came for the Chancellor. From the north. He's sending Tezock back to his island, to mass troops. Never mind how I found out," he added hastily when Deryne opened her mouth. "A combination of insiders and magic weaved this picture together. He's planning to make an example of one of the countries here, squire; it's been his plan since he instated himself here." His grim eyes gleamed. "And I'm betting you can guess which one he's selected for the job." A chill raced down Deryne's back. "He never meant for peace with Tortall; he declared war the day he summoned us."

"Gods help us," she whispered, making the Sign. Alan scoffed.

"The gods have been a little too quiet lately. But they've given us mortals the time and power to stop this horror from unfolding." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Deryne, a few minutes ago, I received a message from Corus, one that calls us both back _this instant._" Confused, she looked into his intent gaze. She was leaving? When he had just hinted the four of them held Roger in check? His grip on her shoulder tightened. "Harailt can only hold this spell for a few more moments," he mumbled, and Deryne jerked her head up- only a few feet away, Harailt stood, sweat dripping down his face. His hands were glowing with his Gift. "A scrambler- _no one _can hear us." Deryne stared.

"He can't work that kind of magic!" she exclaimed with astonishment. "That's a tremendous working! How-"

"Numair gave him a stone to help," Alan muttered. "He feared something like this would happen, but that isn't important, Deryne. What is-" They locked eyes again. "-is that _I _am returning to Corus… and everyone is going to think that you went with me." She stared.

"What?"

"We're leaving you with a free hand, Deryne; you, Han, Rikash, and Cyne."

"Cyne?" Deryne's mind was reeling; everything was happening too fast.

"Your orders are to find that island- follow Tezock. Free Damek. But you won't be under Crown protection; officially, Tortall has no idea what is going on. Neither do the Isles." Alan glanced over at Harailt again; the man looked pale. "So no more games with Roger; he'll know you aren't with me, of course, with all his spies- and he will know that Cyne isn't really indisposed in her rooms, but he will play along, because all he really wants is the four of you on your own. Once you're officially gone, the real battle can begin." Deryne shook her head. "And this will distract him from Tortall, buy us time as he chases after you- you must learn what you can of Tezock and his kind; it might be our only chance of stopping Roger."

"When did you plan all of this?" she breathed. Her knight master gave her a razor-sharp smile.

"Before we left, Uncle Numair outlined a series of possible disasters; Damek getting caught was one of them." He paused. "He had always planned for you two girls to join Ri and Han; once we learned of Tezock, he decided you four would follow him when he left Frasluk." He smiled grimly. "Everything's just happening a little bit quicker than expected, is all."

"But won't folk wonder if you leave without me?" she asked. Alan cast a worried glance at Harailt, who held up a hand.

"Five minutes," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I have a simulacrum Deryne. Speaking of which-" Taking something out of his drawstring, he pressed it into her hand. "-for Merle. A simulacrum of Cyne. She knows how to use it." Deryne's eyes widened.

"Were you planning on telling me anything?" she demanded. A small smile crossed the man's face.

"I am now-" He swore. "Roger's crony is coming this way-" Deryne spun around to see Reuthsak striding towards Harailt. "-they must have identified the spell-" He grabbed Deryne. "Good luck, Queenscove," he hissed. "We're parting ways a little earlier than I thought we would." Deryne was horrified when she felt her eyes water.

"I'll be coming back," she murmured. Alan grinned.

"Never said you weren't," he retorted in a whisper. "Leave now, tell someone you have to pack." He paused, eyes boring into hers.

"I can't do this," she hissed, panicked. "The four of us- who- we can't stop Tezock-" Alan's grip on her shoulder tightened; his gaze grew even more intense.

"Do not be afraid. The future of this world might rest on your shoulders, but the gods light your way, my friend." His voice sounded odd in her ear; it took her a moment to recognize the tone- he was not addressing his squire. He was relinquishing his superoir status; with that farewell, he made her his equal. He pulled back just as Reuthsak approached Harailt, white with fury.

"How dare you use cloaking magic-" Deryne stepped back into the crowd before the man could turn around and see her. If he did, he might realize a plot was underway. Then she glanced around for her knight master, but Alan was gone. She was on her own.

* * *

Cyne tried not to think, but Damek's face kept on rising from her thoughts. His laugh. His smile.

His look of horror. His cry of pain. She shuddered inwardly; her surface calm was driving her mad. She wanted to cry, to beat her fists against a wall. Most of all, she wanted to race through the castle, screaming his name until she found him and freed him.

_This is the price we pay, _she thought bitterly. Never had she had a dimmer view of diplomacy. Worst of all, she was almost sure that Roger knew who Damek was. Who he was to her. The Chancellor had disappeared, which made her fear he was down with Damek now….

A hand on her shoulder; Cyne glanced up to see Deryne.

"We've got exactly an hour," the squire said in a low voice. The princess felt every muscle in her body tense. Her heart skipped a beat; she should have known there were plans in motion…. She fought a smile as her muscles sagged, weak from the sudden relief.

"What do we do?" she asked, lips barely moving. Deryne nodded her head towards the door. Her voice adopted a formal tone.

"Have you explored the gardens yet, Your Highness. I find them a pleasantly _quiet _place to sit." Of course; Cyne remembered that one of the Scanran courtiers had mentioned the muffling enchantments that covered the gardens. It seemed odd, that such a paranoid capital would have such a secret place… but on the other hand, it made perfect sense. It was a double-edged sword. Everyone schemed in the gardens… for and against the Scanran king. With her bodyguards behind her, Cyne followed her friend; she was surprised to see Han and Rikash waiting for them outside. She paused, silently protesting their congregation.

Roger would know if they met; surely he was having them watched? What if he guessed something was the matter?

Then, a split second later, she decided it did not matter, not now, when Damek was in peril.

Without a word, the six youths walked into the silence of the gardens.

* * *

"I happen to know your lover quite well," Roger said pleasantly. Damek felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Not wanting to meet the chancellor's gaze, he stared at the chains that held him to the wall. They were spelled. Of course. "She looked rather pale when you were dragged up on the dais- the chains were an excellent touch, if I do say so myself." Damek had not wanted to draw attention to her; he had not spared Cyne even the slightest glance. It seemed that his discipline had meant nothing. Roger knew, anyway. His heart sank, but he was not surprised. "But somehow, I doubt Queen Dovasary had anything to do with this. No- this _reeks _of Master Numair Salmalin." He paused, running his hand over the sharp, metal instruments on the table. Damek forced the panic down; fear would not stop what would happen next. Blood trickled down his forehead; the guards had already beaten him, and his head throbbed. Still, he watched Roger closely as the man prowled before the torchlight. "Tortall has been a thorn in my side for a _very _long time." He paused, sighing. "I don't suppose you will _willingly _open your mouth and tell me what you were doing." He snorted. "Not that I wonder; I know quite well that you were searching for _anything _that could possibly be of _any _use to you. Information about Tezock… about me." His smile was horrible. "Well, you learned a little, didn't you? Enough that I feel like your death will be worth more than any little tidbits I can drag from your bleeding, barely breathing carcass." Picturing Cyne, Damek was suddenly grateful he had kept her at an arm's distance. His death would hurt her less…. "A stabbing- right through your heart? Or maybe I'll cut your throat-" Damek could not help a sudden, contrary wave of relief.

A quick death would surely be better than a long, agonizing one… he could thank the Gods for small mercies…. But Roger was not done; he paced, musing.

"But perhaps you know more about the Salmalin boy and his friends than I think. You know a great deal about Hetnim's powers, at least." His eyes gleamed. "Yes, I think you're going to tell me everything you can about her… anything I can use against her." _No. _Damek closed his eyes as the story of the jaguar goddess came to mind. No, that had to be kept secret. What would Roger do if he knew the extent of Cyne's powers?

Would he fear her?

Or would he only be more determined to defeat her?

Knowing what he did, Damek was not sure how the chancellor could fight Cyne, even if he knew everything about the Kyprian heir, even with the goddess of Chaos on his side… but there was no way he would ever willingly give the man what he wanted. Roger advanced, teeth glistening.

"I supposed this will be longer than I had planned," he drawled. "Trying to be the valiant hero, Damek Farivan?" Hearing his name was as painful as a slap across the face; Damek flinched. Roger probably knew everything about him from the date of his parents' deaths to the last time he had lain eyes on Cyne.

Cyne. He should not be thinking of her, in case there were mind-reading spells, but she was everywhere; she did not know how much his mind dwelled on her, how many times he watched her out of the corner of his eye as she entertained courtier after courtier- he would wait, see as her smile became fixed, although he liked to think that only a select few could tell…. Just as he was certain he was the only one who saw the quick flicker of suppressed disappointment flash across her face when he pulled away, unable to bear the turmoil of emotion that welled up inside him whenever they were close. Fear and love battled for purchase whenever their eyes locked; his magic screamed at him to step away and leave the power of gods untouched, but his heart shattered a little each time he backed away, and a little more when he saw the confusion that she hid so well- she only let her placid expression fall when she was certain he was no longer watching her… but he was. Always. Now he would never see her again....

His teeth gritted together as Roger called for the guards, his sick smile growing as he spoke to them.

"This might take awhile," he explained with maniacal glee as his eyes traveled back to his prisoner. "But rest assured- I _always _win in the end."

* * *

"And… there he goes," Deryne whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as a freezing gust roared down the dark, empty streets of Hamrkeng as she watched the fluid silhouette of Tezock. Fearing his use of _gudruna_, she sealed herself off from them; he would not feel her magic on the wind. Still, if he was careful, he would know someone stood watching him leave. She could not mask herself completely, as he could.

There were only five guards at the north gate; although they were alert, it would be too easy to follow the immortal. Still, Roger had probably issued a warning; perhaps he was sending more men as she waited.

They would have to act quickly, but they also had to keep space between themselves and Tezock….

She wondered how and why Numair believed this would work; it was a foolhardy plan, a typical, heroic strategy concocted on the fly as they tried to save everyone….

Not that she would ever want to leave Damek to his fate.

But she would be surprised if they managed to succeed. More than surprised.

_Now, _she hissed as she lowered her vigilant barriers; she directed the thought whisper through the alleyways and over rooftops, back towards Frasluk, directly in Han's waiting mind. Although it was difficult for him to connect with her magic, he welcomed the _gudruna_, allowing it to settle and furrow itself into his head. She was grateful the distance between them was no more than half the city; she would not have been able to speak to her friend if they had been any further apart.

_Coming, _he replied. Deryne sensed him jerk his head; he must have been signaling Rikash. It would be _so much easier _if he would let her mindspeak with him…. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she gazed up at the cloudy sky; moonlight only just filtered through the grey haze to illuminate the softened edges of the city. Cyne would stay behind to free Damek… Deryne was still not sure how they would reconvene; Scanra was a vast country, and this island appeared to be even further.

She heard the muffled hooves against the cobble streets long before any other mortal nearby could; she gestured, and her magic flowed through the air, stopping any whisper of noise from reaching the guards' ears. Deryne pulled all the sound into her mind, allowing its resonance to consume her. Her head fell back as the wave of beats crashed over her- she let the noise that was not made by her companions to slip away towards the north gate; perfect stillness was as suspicious as a deafening clatter.

When Han and Rikash turned the corner with their two mounts, Deryne cleared her throat, smiling faintly as they both stiffened.

"You can talk," she said, forcing herself to speak loudly; there was something about their surroundings that made her want to whisper despite the spell. Then her eyes narrowed; her friends only had two horses. "Am I sharing with one of you?" They exchanged a look, one that made Deryne feel queasy.

"I'm going to see what we're dealing with," Han said shortly, handing the reins of his horse to Rikash. As the older youth strode past Deryne, he nudged her towards the firemage. She scowled, glaring after him before turning to Rikash.

"You're leaving me behind with Cyne," she guessed, lips turning downwards. She had no complaint staying with her Kyprian friend; in fact, she was relieved. Cyne would need help. But she _was _irked that they had not bothered to tell her. "I _thought _we had decided the three of us were tracking Tezock." Rikash shrugged.

"You left to prepare, and we realized the hitch," he stated, running a hand through his hair. "Splitting up like this is better. This way, Merle and Brand don't have to be implicated, and you and Cyne don't have to worry about them if you're discovered." Deryne nodded, ire subsiding unspectacularly to leave her feeling awkward. And worried. If Rikash and Han were caught by Tezock…. Rikash looked over her shoulder, then dropped both sets of reins to grip her hands tightly.

"We didn't say farewell last time," Deryne muttered, her gaze falling to his hands.

"I'm saying it this time," he grumbled, squeezing her fingers tightly. Deryne almost turned her face up to his, but chose to stare out at the bare rock of the city around them. She disliked good-byes in the first place, but tonight, her partings seemed much more grim… even ominously permanent, though she told herself that morbid thought was laughable. She remembered how Alan had disappeared into the crowd, all too quickly…. She prayed to Frejonak she would see him again; she feared what was in store for them.

"What if you lose Tezock without me?" she demanded tartly, trying to smother her qualms. "If your tracking skills are legendary, it's for your notable _lack _of them." She was surprised to hear him chuckle under his breath. He tugged his hands out of hers, resting them on her shoulders instead. He waited until she turned to meet his gaze before he spoke.

"Then you and Cyne find _us _and we go after him together," he told her matter-of-factly, his hands falling, sliding down her arms to envelop her hands in his. She clenched his fists in hers.

"But I _can't_," she pointed out impatiently. "I don't have that sort of connection with Han-"

"Then look for me," Rikash whispered, silencing her. Her eyes widened in surprised. "Find my mind when you're searching; I'll let you in." He took a deep breath. "I swear." Mouth agape, Deryne nodded, questions dancing in the back of her mind. He scowled darkly. "Don't even _think _of trying it unless you _have _to."

"Yes, sir," Deryne murmured, and she smiled as he glared, clearly uncertain whether or not she was serious. Then she flung her arms around his neck. She felt him freeze for a moment before he returned the gesture.

"Trust no one," he whispered, his hot breath tickling her neck. "Not even Cyne- _especially _not her." As an indignant noise of protest escaped Deryne, he continued, "It's her heart, not her head, that's in control right now. You need to be the sensible one." She nearly smiled; since when had he needed to remind her to be responsible? She nodded wordlessly, chin burying into his shoulder. "Watch your back, Queenscove." He released her and stepped back just as Han approached. He too embraced the squire, then took his mount from Rikash.

"Off we go," Han said quietly. "We will see you and Cyne soon." Deryne bit her lip.

"By the Gods, I hope so," she muttered. Rikash snorted.

"If you are thinking that Roger has anyone who can stand up to you with Tezock gone, there's no hope for you," he said bluntly. "For your mental capacities, I mean." A hint of a smile crossed Deryne's face.

"I was more concerned for you two," she admitted quietly. "Don't do anything stupid, please. If you have to let Tezock go to stay safe, do it; I can always find him later." That was a lie; she did not know how she was supposed to find an immortal who gagged her _gudruna _without a thought. Both youths nodded, staring grimly at the gate.

"I'll do it," Han muttered, and before either of his companions could respond, the cobblestone rumbled, raising a gentle ripple from where the earthmage rested upon his mount. As it passed through Deryne, her bones rattled. As she whipped around to look at the gate, the guards started, eyes wide, before the earth rose like an ocean wave, blocking her view of them. When the ground settled again, there was no sign of them; the street had swallowed them. She bit her lip; it seemed unfair, but this expedition demanded all the tricks they had. The gate's lock popped open, and the metal groaned as the north doors opened; Deryne moved hastily to silence the sound, but she was not quick enough to stop a tiny dart of magic that escaped from the lock, racing past them.

"Warning spell," she muttered. "He knows." Rikash grimaced. Han shrugged.

"So we begin," he said simply. "See you soon, Deryne." With that, he tapped the sides of his horse with his ankles, and he went forwards at a quick trot. Rikash exchanged one last glance with Deryne.

"Good luck," she said quietly. "Frejonak look after you." He snorted.

"I'll look after myself," he retorted. "And you do the same. Got it?" A small smile tugged at her lips.

"I will," she promised as he followed Han. She wanted to watch until her two friends disappeared, but instead pulled away before they had even reached the gate. Roger would be sending men soon; by the time they arrived, she and Cyne would have made their next move.


	16. Chapter 15: Dilemma

_Chapter 15_

_Dilemma_

Every muscle in Orbea's body tensed as a shadow on the floor announced the Chancellor's approach. A moment later, he rounded the corner, eyes gleaming as they fell on her. She inclined her head gracefully, not bothering to conceal her tremble- how could she hide it from him? At times she doubted he was a man, although the way he looked her over was very human…. She could only imagine what Heolstor would demand of her in exchange for his silence. Still, the thought did not make her blush; if anything, it bled all color out of her cheeks.

"You look quite lovely, tonight," he drawled, his brown hair elegantly tossed out of his face. "A pity such a treasure is wasted on an old man." Orbea swallowed.

"He loves me," she replied steadily. "And old is-"

"-an understatement," the Chancellor cut her off. He smirked. "Believe me, my lady- I am aware of how the burdens of kingship age a man." He took a step forwards. "-until he is nothing but a puppet in his advisors' hands." Orbea's throat was dry; she stared at him, backing away until the door to his rooms was between them.

"Is this what you plan, then?" She had once hated the king she now served as consort; she still, even now, feared him. Before she had won him from the scheming courtesans that vied for queenship, the Scanran king had killed half her family and banished the rest. But Ingmar was as kind and merciful as the Mother Goddess compared to the one who stood before her now. He chuckled.

"Never, love," he replied, a small hint of surprise in his voice. "I merely look after his interests… to p_rotect_ him from such a fate." He lied. And, if the malicious gleam in his eye meant anything, he loved spinning such deceptive tales.

"By throwing the world into war?" she demanded before biting her lip. _No. _Despair raced through her. How could she have been foolish even to say something like that? She had never spoken of the suspicions that had been forming in her mind from everything she heard and saw. Something flashed in his dark eyes, and before Orbea could flee, he was next to her, his nose almost touching hers.

"What's this?" he whispered softly, gaze boring into her. She looked away as he leaned closer, his lip caressing her ear. She gasped as he grabbed her by the waist, but still turned her face away, as far as she could. When he chuckled, his chest rumbled against hers. "This world keeps handing me surprises…. Is there a mind beneath that fair, dumb exterior, my lady?"

She felt tears forming in her eyes; her safety had always relied on knowing nothing… and making everyone else believe it. She pressed herself as far as she could against the wall, but the Chancellor only took a step closer, pushing himself against her.

"Never fear, my lady," he whispered, and his warm breath in her ear. "I've never been able to kill a clever woman… not when there are far better diversions to pursue." When he stepped away, Orbea sank, knees weak, only managing to stop herself before she collapsed on the floor.

"Goddess preserve me," she whispered softly. The Chancellor snorted.

"She will never answer your prayers," he retorted scornfully. "The Gods don't give a damn about anyone, let alone a small, helpless girl with no great importance in the grand scheme of things." Orbea tried not to listen, but each word, spoken with such certainty, was a hammer blow to her thundering heart. "There is only servitude… and reward for loyalty… _if _you choose your sides wisely." As she looked up at him, he bowed deeply, holding an arm out to her. "Come, my lady. There is someone I want you to see." His iron stare told her there was no fighting, and the woman knew already that she could not stand by herself, not now. Her gloved hand reached out shakily, and Heolstor gripped her arm tightly, hauling her up against him. She closed her eyes as she forced her legs to work. She had a sinking, inescapable feeling that the Chancellor had her well and truly ensnared.

* * *

A soft groan escaped Kol's lips; then he leapt up as his memory came crashing back. He had been in his sister's chambers-The boy swore loudly. He had been here before, and he knew very well what happened next. The Frasluk jailers were renowned for their inventive methods of torture. Frankly, Kol would rather be thrown off the cliff into the Emerald Sea than suffer here again.

He approached the door; unlike his previous cell, from so many years ago, this one was enforced and bolted tight from the outside….

He closed his eyes, ready to plop back down onto the freezing floor, when his ears picked up the telltale jingle of keys.

Better not to be seen; attention was the last thing he wanted. Kol threw himself away from the small, barred window to the outside that the door provided. There was a soft murmur of voices, and the echo that came with them…. The memories of his time spent in these dark corners of the castle were coming back, all too fast-

The tramp of guards' feet- the clink of their metal-

Deep inside, he expected it. But it did not make him feel better when he saw the faces of the soldiers; they stopped outside his cell, and he heard the jangle of keys again, this time much louder as a guard jammed them into the lock and yanked open the door.

For a moment Kol just blinked. It seemed impossible….

Garbed in a gown fit for a queen, silver draped over her like seaweed over a rusted anchor abandoned on the shore, was a woman with skin that glowed and eyes that pierced his blank stare. Her presence seemed unreal, almost god-like, in the filth of the dungeons. Her cry a moment later stunned him out of his trance.

"Kol!" she cried, starting forward, but the man standing next to her gripped her by the elbows, restraining her. The boy lurched to his feet, but the two guards standing between him and her pointed their spears at his neck.

"Bea," he whispered as his stomach sank. Now she was involved…. Fear jolted through him as he looked at the smirk on the nobleman's face. Now they were in trouble. The beautiful young woman turned to her companion, shock in her face, her clenched fists on his chest.

"Why so upset, darling?" the man queried, still sneering. "I thought you would be delighted to see your baby brother."

* * *

Cyne held her breath as Deryne glanced around the corner, then signaled for her friend to follow as she strode down the empty passageway briskly, focusing on each door they passed with narrowed eyes. The squire could sense movement and knew that no one blocked the path they were taking to Damek; her _gudruna _led her on, bringing them closer and closer to the Kyprian's youth….

Cyne wanted to hurry, but Deryne still remembered Roger's unexpected, undetected ambush in the gardens; the last thing she wanted when turning the corner was to run into the root of all their troubles.

So their progress was slower than it may have been otherwise, although, with Cyne breathing down her neck and fidgeting, Deryne found herself picking up speed as they drew nearer and nearer to the guarded staircase that plunged down into the dungeons of Frasluk.

* * *

"You see, Kol," the brown-haired nobleman said calmly. "I have need of you." He pushed Orbea into the hands of one of the soldiers. "Take her to my chambers- see that she is well taken care of- she may need refreshment, after this shock." The hardness in his eyes betrayed the kindness in his voice. Kol caught a glimpse of his sister's stunned face before she was half-dragged out of his line of sight. He almost went after her, but the spear jutting towards his throat stopped him. "Right at this moment, two brilliant young women are breaking a spy out of the torture chambers," the man stated simply, fiddling with a charm around his neck. He removed it, tangling his fingers in its chain. The small medallion gleamed so that Kol could see the four gems in it that glowed in the torchlight. "And _you _will escape from these dungeons here… to meet up with this fleeing trio." Kol frowned, and the man tossed the charm at his feet. The boy instinctively recoiled, and it landed on the cold floor before him. Before he could react, the soldier retreated and slammed the door of his cell shut. He took half a step forwards, confusion and protest silencing him as the door was locked again.

"But-"

'Put it on," the man ordered, nodding at the small medallion. "And you will be able to open all the doors you need to escape Frasluk. I have told you what to do, and that is enough for now. You need no further directions now. I will give your new orders once you are ready." He nodded brusquely. "But I would move quickly, boy, for once the guard changes, they will discover that several of those on duty have been drugged, and they will sound the alarm." His teeth flashed in a wide, chilling smile. "And then, even _that _charm will not help you." Kol blinked, and the soldier and the man were gone from his view, reduced to muddled footsteps and a faint jangle of keys as they left him to determine his fate.

* * *

Damek raised his hand wearily; they had left him, bleeding, on the floor, still chained to the wall; they threatened they would be back soon. Sweat trickled into his eyes, but it mattered little; his vision was already a haze…. When he closed his eyes, he could picture Cyne perfectly- he had tried to block her from his mind, but she rose persistently, haunting him until he gave up and allowed her to float silently before him, just out of reach.

How could he have feared her gaze? Her deep stare, darkened with the might of the oceans, but gentle… always gentle…. He took a soft breath, fearing he might shatter his ribs if he tried too hard. His chest ached, and he could feel the blood dripping down his back from the flogging… and down his cheek, where the Chancellor had personally sliced his face open. _This _was pain. _This _was darkness. _This_… was despair. And danger. And death. He felt it looming, and its weight seemed more comforting than frightening.

He would be dead before dawn; he was certain of it. Perhaps he would slip into the Black God's realm before the Chancellor came back and managed to torture information out of him. Damek was almost sure that he had not said anything important so far.

He only wished he could pass on the little he had learned in the Chancellor's chambers. He was falling, into darkness….

He only had a few minutes before he fell asleep; with a bit of luck, he would not wake up again. He smiled weakly as he sent up a few prayers. There was no Black God yet, but he could see Cyne so clearly; he remembered, abruptly, how her eyes bore into his, daring him to kiss her, while he fought against a fear he no longer had-

Death dulled the senses. He could heard her calling him, feel the sea breeze the night he had lost his nerve, hear his heart pounding as she smiled at him. She was screaming now, crying- Her call pierced his ears, refusing to let him sleep.

Someone was cursing; he tried to look around, but he could not move. Everything was darkness….

He could feel her hands on his, but metal claws still gripped his wrists, drawing all the warmth out of his blood.

"They're the same as the ones that held us in Corus," a sharp voice rang out. "Spelled-" There was a roar in his ears, then a loud crack, and he recoiled as the metal released him and, the instant it was gone, there was blue light everywhere, blinding him as it washed over his body. Unable to move, he lay still as she- it _felt _like her, even though he knew it could not be- pressed her cheek against his. He thanked the Black God for taking the pain anyway, for sending for him in such a way….

"Damek," her voice whispered in his ear, and he relaxed in the flood of emotion as the pain disappeared; surely he was finally dead? A soft smile on his lips, he gave in to blackness; the last thing he knew before it swallowed him up was her solemn face.

* * *

"He's fine," Deryne snapped, trying to listen as far as she could. There was no time for dithering. "But we need to _leave-_"

"How?" Cyne asked, face troubled. "He's-" She gestured helplessly down at the unconscious Damek. Deryne growled under her breath, then knelt to shake the youth furiously before Cyne could stop him.

"You're not dead yet, Kyprian," she muttered, staring at the scar across the handsome face; the moment she had broken the manacles, Cyne's magic had poured across the young man, leaving every cut and bruise completely healed. What unnerved Deryne was that the healing had not taken the least of a toll on her friend; if anything, her magic seemed even stronger- it left a sharp tang on the wind, the same taste as the one a brewing storm brought…. It was more forboding than the fresh earth feeling in the air after Han had performed a powerful working and less familiar than the dry scorch she sensed from Rikash's power unleashed. "You're needed back in Tortall-" She smacked his cheeks gently until Cyne put a hand on her arm. The squire rolled her eyes. "Right then." Grabbing his arm, she wrapped it around her neck and began to rise; Cyne quickly followed suit on his other side. He slumped over both of them, his feet dragging. "Too tall," Deryne mumbled. She could not stop a chuckle from escaping her. They were not going to go far with Damek like this.

She suspected Cyne had already taxed his body with too much magic, but she put a finger against his side anyway, sending a jolt of waking magic through him. He started, nearly knocking all three of them over. Deryne quickly stepped off to the side and hauled open the heavy door.

"Cyne?" she heard him whisper. When she turned, Damek and Cyne were staring into each other's eyes, each with a faint smile. Her stomach wrenched painfully.

"Lovely," Deryne announced as flippantly as she could as she stuck her head out into the passageway; it was empty. "Save it for later. _After _we've left unscathed."

* * *

She hated nights like this.

Merle flexed uneasily, hands restlessly running over her body, where her knives were hidden away underneath her clothes. She tried to rest in the cot next to Cyne's empty bed, but she couldn't bear to lie down, let alone feign sleep.

All she could do was wait, and she _loathed _it. Her fingers played tensely against her thigh as she prowled the shadows of the rooms. She checked the servants' stairwell, then glanced out the barred window that opened out onto the courtyard; unknown to any but herself, Cyne, and Brand, the bars could be kicked out at a moment's notice for a quick escape. Merle liked having a secret egress; like her mother, she preferred to be over-prepared than the opposite.

She knew Cyne would be fine; most of the time, the princess did not require any protection she could not provide herself- she needed bodyguards to remain incognito. An heir to the throne without guards would provoke questions nobody wanted to answer- although Merle had always felt it would be an intimidating demonstration of power. But her mother always said it was better to be underestimated, and that was the style Cyne preferred- quiet and mellow, until it was too late for anyone to realize their error.

No, Merle was not worried about her friend, especially when the Tortallan squire was at her side. _But_ she despised the lack of action and ample formalities in her part of the work; it would be boring and nerve-wreaking at the same time.

She stiffened; someone was moving- She couldn't say she _heard _it exactly, but she sensed it…. Instinctively, one hand went to the crow feather around her neck while the other reached for her belt dagger. A moment later she relaxed as a familiar, coded knock sounded on the door. She crossed the room, avoiding the windows- it could draw notice if someone saw her up at this hour. When she gently pulled the bolt off and pushed the door open, Brand slid in from his adjacent room, dark eyes boring into hers. Merle mentally kicked herself as her heart skipped a beat; she closed the door softly behind him without breaking gazes, and he leaned in, breath tickling her ear.

"Couldn't sleep," he murmured. Merle's mouth quirked upwards in a small smile.

"Me, neither," she confessed. She shook her head. "I don't care if Cyne's got an alibi with this." She raised the simulacrum stone in her hand. "I'm not liking this." Brand nodded once in agreement, then tilted his head towards the bed. Merle's face flushed slightly; she thanked the gods it was so dark.

"We could sleep in shifts," he told her quietly. "I think I could nap if I knew you were watching my back." Merle grinned.

"Can't say that I can say the same about you, Sibigat," she retorted in a whisper. He rolled his honey-colored eyes at her quip.

"This is what I get for trying to be serious," he grumbled playfully. She chuckled softly, pushing gently past him.

"Of course," she said in a hushed voice. "I get to sleep first." She plopped down on the blankets, smirking back at him as she lay back.

"Not fair," Brand complained. "It was _my _idea."

"You're so spoiled, Brand," Merle sighed as she stretched languidly. "Imagine what you'd be like if you always got your way." As Merle closed her eyes smugly, she felt the mattress buckle under his weight. When she cracked an eyelid slightly, she nearly smacked her friend in surprise; he leaned over her, their faces barely a foot away. Fleetingly, she thought of how many of the lovely courtesans back at the Kyprian court would give all their jewels to have Brand Sibigat in the same position. He cocked an eyebrow, and Merle forgot to pretend she had already fallen asleep.

"You said you can't trust me on watch," he drawled, eyes glinting as he pronounced each syllable very deliberately. "Imagine what I'll be like if I _don't _get my way." Merle swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore their closeness. His stomach lightly rubbed against her hip as he shifted slightly.

"Frog in the bed, charcoal beards- I've already suffered through it all," she retorted. Her gaze strayed to the ceiling; if she met his teasing stare for much longer, he would see right through her.

"Well," Brand mused. "What if I get inventive?" The spell was broken momentarily; Merle snickered, shaking her head, eyes still avoiding him.

"There isn't an inventive bone in your body, Sibigat," she answered.

"Oh really?" Brand moved again, his mock serious face entering Merle's line of sight again as he leaned down, slowly taking up the space the ceiling had taken. If she tried to avoid his eyes now, she would have her face in his chest… and _that _was the only situation worse than the one she was in now, as he stared into her eyes, only inches away. He shook his head mournfully. "Maybe you can think of something neither of us has ever done before, eh?" Merle felt heat race to her face; he was so close, he could probably _feel _the wave of mortification rush over her.

"Nothing," she tried to say, but her mouth was too dry. She wet her lips; how could she _think_ of anything at this point? She forced herself not to clear her throat- that would give away too much- both she and Brand knew the body's responses to a person's emotions…. "Well," she managed, smiling cheekily. "I can't say you've crushed me to death before-" She stopped as a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.

"You think I'm _crushing _you _now?_" The boy couldn't take a hint.

"Oh no," Merle whispered, almost too herself; her face felt like it was on fire, but Brand did not seem to notice her panic as he lowered his body threateningly, until his waist was suspended less than an inch above her stomach.

"Give up now?" he asked impudently. "Ready to take first watch?" Merle gaped at him, ready to smack him. He seemed to sense her intentions, he grabbed the wrist that was not pinned underneath him with a grin. His captive grumbled a few choice words under her breath and Brand's smile grew wider. He inclined his head further, so that his mouth was by her ear; it was an everyday intimacy, something Merle was accustomed to, but not when his chest was almost pressed against hers; she thanked the gods that he had slung his legs off to the side, and that his pressure ended at her waist. As it was, she could not listen to the words Brand murmured in her ear; she seethed inwardly at the injustice of Brand's antics and the sick sense of humor of her patron god, Kyprioth.

A soft grumble of assent escaped her throat, and a sigh escaped her throat as Brand began to pull back, his rogue grin replaced with an odd mixture of fleeting expressions. He paused for a moment in his retreat, his brow furrowing as the two youths locked gazes. He cleared his throat and blinked. They remained like that for a moment, dark honey eyes boring into hazel.

"I never-"

But he didn't finished the sentence; there was a harsh shout from the outside, and then the bolted door burst open to reveal a Scanran mage and a squadron of archers advancing into the room.


	17. Chapter 16: Leaving Frasluk

I know it's small, but I wanted to put something up before I left for the week. Sorry, more exciting stuff to come in the future!

* * *

_Chapter 16_

_Leaving Frasluk_

Merle heard Brand swear as she flipped backwards over the bed and ducked behind it. A mage spell shot over her head as she hit the floor. Before the blue light could hit the wall behind her, she rolled to the side, out into the open long enough to see the spell holding Brand. Without thinking, she yanked her spelled belt dagger out and threw it towards the mage; it hit the man in the side. With a howl, he doubled over while his archers looked on in surprise; they had probably never known weapons could be magicked to overcome simple protection spells. The blue magic released Brand, and he was at her side, by the window, before anyone could react. Merle exchange a quick glance with him, then swiftly slammed her foot into the bars, knocking the carefully sawed through metal out into the courtyard. As the grate crashed on the stone below, the mage cried out.

"Kill them!" Merle saw several men burst through the servants' door as she hiked herself through the opening. The fall, only about a floor's height, was all too short; before she could hit the ground, she shapeshifted, her crow form pulling up quickly, nearly skimming the stone beneath her before shooting straight up into the sky. Brand hurled himself out with another swear; Merle winced in sympathy for him as he hit the ground with a jolt. Two of the archers had hit him in the arm, but neither wound seemed to bother him- he yanked each out with no more than a grimace. Blood trickled down his clothes, but both youths knew they had no time to stop the bleeding now. He looked up as he began to run, nodding at the bird hovering above him before dashing into the shadows. Merle's small heart thundered as she tracked his path towards the east gate, the one furthest from their rooms; hopefully they would arrive before anyone could sound an alert and post more men there.

She went ahead; while her friend lurked in the shadows, she swept her wings over the battlements, where a lone soldier stood. She smiled to herself; no other guard was in sight. She waited until the man stopped watching her with a bored expression and turned his back; silently she swooped down and changed back into a young woman. The man never saw her as she yanked a knife out of her sleeve and slammed its hilt against his helmeted head; he dropped like a stone as she turned to the shadows where Brand was waiting, smirking slightly. Before they had left the Isles, her mother had given her the best gift she had ever received; a complete wardrobe and set of weapons that would remain on her person no matter how many times she shapeshifted with them on her. She never had to trouble herself about the complications of the crow-shape again… although now all her outfits except the one she wore were in the Chancellor's possession. Who else would have ordered the attack? She still was not very concerned about Cyne… Heolstor had probably gone after them because he had figured they were weaker. Merle smirked as Brand opened the gate and slid forward. She was indeed her mother's daughter… Aly would be proud.

Then she changed her mind as she leapt off the fortress walls; Aly would take it in stride- the spymaster of the Copper Isles was accustomed to such escapades. Now her _grandmother _would be impressed_; _Alanna the Lioness was not so accustomed to stealth.

* * *

As he clenched the magicked medallion in one hand, Kol took several halting steps after the fleeing figure; he knew the youth- Brand had been one of the Hetnim princess's bodyguards. Surely it wasn't a coincidence he was leaving Frasluk at the same time as the three the nobleman had described to Kol. The boy edged nearer, noting the still form of the guard lying on the battlements…. From the knowing smile of the nobleman, Kol guessed he knew that _he _knew these two unnamed girls…. Instantly, the Kyprian princess rose again in his mind; Kol had always been one to go with his instincts- they rarely proved him wrong. Maybe these two girls were Cyne and the red-haired, female guard, Merle. If so, Brand would eventually lead back to them….

Casting a hasty glance around him, Kol raced to the door and shoved it open; once he was out, he stood still for a long moment, straining his eyes to check his surroundings for soldiers. Then he waited another few moments for Brand to wander down the street further before following him with bated breath, keeping to the shadows of the nearby buildings.

Behind him, a glossy-feathered crow spread her wings and took to the air, circling above the two moving specks on the ground lazily, her piercing gaze leveled at the young ship hand.

* * *

Rikash drummed his fingers against his saddle horn. He glanced over at Han and scowled. He wished the stoic earthmage would imitate Deryne for once and chatter his ear off. Sometimes, his friend was too quiet for comfort.

Of course, he reasoned, if Han _did _start speaking, it would annoy him to no end.

A moment later, Han cleared his throat.

"I am glad Roger has called attention to himself," he said simply. Rikash stared, and his friend gave him a small smile. "Both you and Deryne were ready to claw each other's eyes out. You were as antsy as riled cats following the stale trail of a missing rat." Rikash made a face; whereas _Deryne _might be _amused _by Han's analogies, he found them all too vivid. "But mostly, I am glad for Deryne's sake." Rikash frowned, puzzled. Han clarified. "Having an adversary to fight has helped her, more than either of us could have imagined. She needs someone to strike out against-"

"Because of Inar's death," Rikash guessed darkly. Han shrugged.

"I suspect that's why Roger has waited so long to reveal himself; he wants her riled- No one thinks clearly when they're driven half-mad with impatience." He sighed. "Hopefully, she will be more sensible now, but I think she is even further driven by vengeance than you; if Roger dies, Inar's death is avenged. We will have to watch her, and make sure she doesn't do anything foolish." Rikash snorted; he guessed that usually Han would be having this conversation with Deryne about _him. _

"That leaves you as the clear thinker of our group, then," Rikash muttered. Not that he had considered Deryne as the sensible one since Inar's death. Han turned, face smooth.

"I was hoping you could help me in that arena." Rikash raised an eyebrow in reply to this ludicrous statement. They watched each other for a long moment, then burst into quiet chuckles.

"Has Tezock stopped for a break yet?" Rikash asked after a few minutes. Han shook his head with a faint frown.

"The stones call him unnatural. The Islander from Chaos." Rikash allowed a grumble of assent to escape him. "And a bit of nonsense that doesn't make a whole lot of sense- halves of a whole, and an island with no water in sight…." He paused, head tilted to the side, as though listening. "Lots of death and destruction, too." Rikash shook his head- at least _he _didn't have to worry about voices in his head. He could only speculate on how Deryne and Han managed such a cacophony… he preferred the raw power he had, with no strings attached.

Then again, he might have to learn to deal with voices. His mind spun back to his last exchange with Deryne; that had been _stupid_. What had possessed him to _tell _her that she could _talk in his head? _To _let _her? He nearly kicked himself thinking about it; he settled for a disgusted snort. Just the thought of the last time she had sent him a message in desperation made him flinch.

"So how are Deryne and Cyne going to catch up with us?" Han asked, as though honing in on Rikash's thoughts. The blond youth shot a daggered glare in his friend's direction. Noticing the surly mood, Han held his hands up innocently. "I was wondering if I should be marking our trail." They had left the main trail much earlier that night; it was close to dawn, and Tezock had spent the night leading them around game paths that barely accommodated horses.

"Don't bother," Rikash said abruptly. "And don't worry about it." He ignored the eyebrows raised in his direction. If Han found out, Rikash suspected they would have another little heart-to-heart chat that made him feel five winters old. Besides, his heart had nothing to say, whatever Han seemed to think. Rikash had a right to keep some things to himself.

* * *

"I think this is it," Deryne muttered out of the corner of her mouth, one hand gripping Damek's upper arm; the freed prisoner was losing strength quickly. As they had walked down Remakr Street, he had stumbled, nearly knocking Cyne over as he collapsed. They had half-dragged him down the path, peering at each small house doubtfully. Her relief was tempered by the grim thought of escaping the city with everyone on alert…. Roger would be after their blood now. Still, she smiled when a flicker of motion in the eaves of the small house drew her eye to Duskwing; the kestrel flapped his wings at her.

_About time, _the voice said loftily. Deryne shrugged with a smile, then turned to her two companions.

"Yes, this is it," she announced. Damek groaned an assent as his bleary gaze rested on the safe house. When she pushed the door open, Duskwing swept over their heads to watch them haul Damek over the threshold and onto the nearest of the cots lying on the floor. The youth groaned, shaking his head.

"This one's Rikash's," he muttered. "It might catch fire in the middle of the night or sommat." Deryne stifled a laugh, helping him up just long enough to cross the room to his own cot; he was asleep before he lay down.

"Is he all right?" Cyne asked nervously, hovering. Deryne sighed, rubbing her eyes. She understood her friend's concern… and wished she didn't.

"He'll live. That was a damn lot of magic we had to use to heal him, let alone what we needed to get him out of the castle and into the streets to find this place. He needs to sleep it off…." She knew that they should be leaving now, but one glance at Cyne's intense face told her there would be no rejoining Han and Rikash that night. She glared up at the ceiling. "Take a nap, and I'll stay on watch-"

_Stupid human. _Deryne glanced over at her kestrel. His eyes seemed less birdlike, more unnatural, when the Chamber spoke through him. _Even the mighty need to rest. Have no fear; no one will come, and I will watch. _

"Kestrels need to sleep sometime, too," she pointed out, yawning. She ignored the weary smile on Cyne's face.

_You are _tired, _Queenscove. _Its tone was disgusted, but gentle. _Go to sleep. _She should not leave watch to a _bird_…. The kestrel let out a small shriek that made Cyne look worriedly at Damek, but the youth did not stir. _I am no ordinary bird. I am older than mankind, and allied with Frejonak, your patron. Do not quibble with me, squire. _Deryne opened her mouth to protest, but her feet were already making their way back towards Rikash's cot as Cyne plopped down on another.

"Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a little while," she muttered as she curled up with the thin blanket. The last sound she heard was a sharp laugh from the Chamber.

* * *

"Gotcha!" A hand grabbed Kol by the back of his shirt; the boy yelped as he was spun around- he tried to tear free, but received a smack around the head for his efforts.

"Goddess, Merle!" the youth Kol had been following exclaimed breathlessly; he was several hundred feet ahead. "Be a little quieter sneaking up on a lad- maybe my heart'll actually stop next time!" Kol lay eyes on his captor; the red-haired female bodyguard had materialized behind him without a sound. His heart raced; he should have _known _she would be with her friend.

"Your heart could use a temporary stop; maybe it'd scare you into better shape," Merle growled, soft enough so that only Kol heard. Then she cleared her throat. "You see what was following you? Recognize him?" As Brand approached, Kol was released. "Don't you move," Merle warned, hazel eyes blazing. Then she looked at her approaching friend. "It's the ship brat. The one that saved Cyne after the storm." Kol relaxed, but neither Kyprian seemed pleased yet. "What are you doing here?" the red-head snapped.

"Why are you following us?" Brand demanded. An image of the nobleman leapt into Kol's mind, but he pushed it away as he scrambled for an explanation. Most of it was true.

"I went into Frasluk with Rikash and Han and Damek," the boy said, glancing from one interrogator to the other. "We separated, and I couldn't find anyone, but I saw you leaving, and followed-" Merle's eyes narrowed.

"Why did you leave the others?" she asked.

"I was looking for my sister," he admitted, scuffing his foot on the street. "I couldn't find her." When he looked up, Brand and Merle were exchanging a dubious glance.

"Do you know where the safe house is?" Brand asked slowly. Kol brightened; neither of his companions seemed to know.

"Yes." The two exchanged another look, then turned to him.

"All right," Merle said. "You can stick with us, then."

* * *

_AN: Yay for lots of characters going all over the place! :P Reviews are appreciated. _


	18. Chapter 17: The Balance

_Chapter 17_

_The Balance_

Sir Myles of Barony Olau pinched the bridge of his nose wearily as he consulted the translation once more; every muscle ached as he bent forward, wizen face mere inches away from the parchment as he made out the small scribble by the ample candlelight around him. In his younger days, this sort of work- the multiple translations and analysis of old texts- would have excited him as a challenging puzzle for the mind; now, he groaned softly as he caught his most recent mistake. Shaking his head, he scratched out the old Cyritac and rewrote it properly; he was fueled by anxious urgency, despite his weariness. He knew he was one of the few who could salvage any meaning from the old writings in the depths of the Corus library about Frejonak, Yama, Gaian, and the Wavewalker. When someone pushed the door open, he did not bother to look up, lest he lose his place; there was only one person who did not knock on his study door.

"Hello, Irnai," he murmured, double checking his latest line.

"They're here, finally," she told him, and Myles turned his head quickly to see the scrolls in the seer's hand. She smiled as she placed them by her side. "The Voice copied them himself, from the walls of Persopolis." _Finally. _The Bahzir of the desert had recorded their history for far longer than others, and in far more permanent ways; the palace itself was a manuscript of their ancestors. Even more important, the language was one Sir Myles understood perfectly; there would be no cross-translations this time. He smiled grimly as he unrolled the first and began to read it.

"And how is the old king?" he queried, feeling odd; he had never thought he live to say that about Jon's father, let alone Jonathon of Conte himself. Irnai was silent for a long moment, and Myles raised an eyebrow before he continued to read. There was little he had not already learned; he reached for the second scroll.

"They say he is training the next Voice," she finally said, voice less certain than usual.

"Says who?" Myles made a note on the parchment.

"Them." The old knight chuckled to himself.

"And who is them, Irnai?" he asked.

"The people." Myles laughed again; mortals were not her usual news sources.

"I thought you were above gossip, dear girl. What do the gods say?"

"I cannot predict the Voice's death," she said mildly. "Only he can see that." Myles's stomach dropped. Jon? Dying? For a moment, he could see King Roald's father as a young page, sitting in his classroom, piercing blue eyes watching his instructor keenly. Myles knew then that this boy would be an extraordinary ruler… but he had not known just how right he had been. And now-

"A change in leadership of the Bahzir does not mean the death of the old- and training of the Voice can take years," Myles said, a touch of sternness in his voice. Irnai bowed her head.

"This is true," she agreed quietly. "But time marches on, Myles." The old man's eyes closed.

"That is does," he says quietly. Then he cleared his throat. "Sometimes I fear I will not complete these-" He swept his hand over the expanse before him. "-before the Black God calls me, Irnai. I fear that I will leave you all blind and ignorant of what is to happen." She did not reply to his statement; instead, she turned, gazing around.

"To know the future, the past must be brought to light." Irnai wandered along the stacks of books, her fingers drifting over their covers. "Much has already been said. Fire, earth, air, and water… they must stop Uuasoe, the Queen who betrayed the Old Ones and bound them in Chaos, the one who scattered the brethren-"

"Who?" Myles prompted, looking sharply up at the ethereal woman, who smiled dreamily.

"The children of the Old Ones. They shall destroy the world." The knight froze; a chill ran through him- was this the answer to all their questions? Roger wanted to destroy this mortal world, to free Chaos and drag the heavens down into it… was this what they needed to know? Was this the vital secret they were missing?

"Who are they, Irnai?" he asked slowly, writing her last words down swiftly. The seer stared out into the distance for a moment, then shrugged.

"Opposites," she replied vaguely. "Light and dark, but neither good nor evil. They are not whole, nor do they want for anything but death. Death of themselves." The old man waited, but she did not elaborate. He let out a soft sigh, then shook his head wearily.

"Find Cadel, will you?" he requested, rubbing his temples again. As Irnai nodded gracefully and departed, Myles sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Keladry's son had always had a keen interest in history, and there ought to be someone with a sharp mind and young eyes nearby- someone young and lucid, someone who could be trusted with such grave matters, who could pass on the word, if his partners succumbed to death and unintelligible ramblings.

* * *

A smile tugged at Deryne's lips when she realized she was flying- flying along the cliffs by the sea, like she had in many dreams before. The sensation of swooping up the coast was a soothingly familiar one; she was not surprised to see Duskwing gliding by her side when she turned her head. With a loud cry, the kestrel shot ahead of her, towards a figure that waited in the distance, suspended above the ground.

The squire's heartbeat quickened; the lean, wiry form of a man held out his arm, and her bird slowed to rest upon his wrist. As she approached, she took him in slowly; he had a small stubble covering his chiseled face; when he looked at her, her breath caught- she might have as well looked into her own eyes.

"Frejonak," she whispered. Here was her patron god; the one who had sent Duskwing to her- the one who had given her her magic. His lips curled in a tiny smirk.

"Deryne of Queenscove." He watched her floating form with detached interest until she stopped before him. Then he chuckled. "Since Uuasoe was kind enough to stride out into the open, she as good as gave me leave to drop in. Loopholes in the laws that govern the universe are beautiful things." He held out a hand before Deryne could reply, the other still holding up Duskwing, who preened. "We're going on a little trip, my dear." Numbly, the girl placed her hand on his, and their surroundings blurred. Deryne blinked, and they were standing inside a ring of people. Then she realized her mistake: not people, but gods. The squire gasped, but none of them paid any mind; each stared into the ball of light in the center of the circle, their full attention taken up by the multicolored glow. "Ignore them- they don't even know we're here." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, causing the kestrel to take flight. "The Hall of Gods, Queenscove- no mortal may ever lay eyes on it, nor walk on its sacred ground. The penalty is death, not that the penalty for morality isn't always," he added wickedly. "_And_, after that,the Black God sets you adrift in the Void for eternity." Deryne glared, but did not have the nerve to voice her thoughts.

_Well, that makes sense, to bring me here to suffer divine wrath_. She started when Frejonak snorted.

"Are you truly that thick, my darling?" he queired. "I wouldn't ever place you in such danger- there is too much invested in you." Deryne scowled. Of course he could hear her thoughts…."And everyone else's, too," the god added casually. "An upside, to all those pesky _gudruna_, always pleading for attention like a pack of starving orphans."

"So, why did you bring me here?" she demanded, wondering for the first time if Rikash had grounds for his violent reactions towards her mind-reading. It did not trouble her, to have Frejonak reply to her thoughts… he was a god, her patron god, after all… but it was unnerving enough for her to imagine how she would feel if her _human _friend could do the same…. "Just for the view?"

"It's a nice one, isn't it?" Frejonak pointed at the swirling lights in the center of the circle. "Chaos in the middle." He turned, allowing his hand to sweep across the frozen gods around them. "And its adversaries without. Seem familiar?" A jolt of understanding slammed into Deryne; as her stomach sank, she did, too- her legs gave out, and she slid to the floor slowly.

"The Black Caverns." Frejonak nodded solemnly.

"You saw the stone statues- the Old Ones' portrayal of this very scene." He gestured again. "Of course, when something is contained, it will, occasionally, break out," he added grimly. "It is only freedom, a release, that will end this conflict."

"Chaos winning, you mean," Deryne said wearily, recalling the incidents in the Caverns…. They had saved the mortal world from Uuasoe. At a cost.

"No. Not necessarily," Frejonak said quietly, staring at the still figures around them. "There seem now only two possible outcomes- Her triumph… or preservation of the current balance. But the unexpected is bound to happen. Now, powers that have not wandered these worlds since the final days of the Unnamed are lurking on the horizon- such as you," he added, a small smile on his lips.

"Why show me this?" she asked, and frowned when his reply was a shrug. "Why remind me, of-" She stopped, as events past flooded past her. Inar, who had been destined to receive the gift that Frejonak was forced to take away and give to _her_.

"I do not regret anything I have done." Deryne gritted her teeth; she could not speak of this aloud.

_You could have saved him. Intervened, when Malvyn ripped his soul apart, and bound Roger to my _friend_-_

_"_No," Frejonak replied serenely. "If there had been anything I could have done, it would have been done. I was- kept occupied," he said, bitterness entering his voice. "Until it was too late. And by then, I had to leave him- I could not risk tainting that power in any way. If he had fallen into Uusaoe's hands, we would have been lost." Deryne nodded, but did not speak. It made sense, when he said it. But it did not comfort or convince her of anything. "It was all for the best, anyway," he finished, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. She looked up at him.

"How so?" she barely managed the words.

"You were given as much of an equal in your powers as I could supply," he said simply. "He no longer had the _gudruna_, but he had power over them- that was why his mind block was so successful against you- they would not enter his head, if he wanted it so. He was the one person with whom you could not reply on what gifts I gave you. He helped you grow into your own."

"And now I've lost that equal," she spat out. Frejonak shrugged.

"You have the other three now," he answered simply. Deryne wanted to hit him. The god laughed softly.

"I can feel your suffering, Queenscove, but I cannot cry over every mortal- and since I do not cry over every, I do not cry for any. The gods are pitiless- it is how we survive." He sighed. "In fact, I am one of the gentlest of us- it is what the Unnamed's power has done to me." He stared off into the distance. "Now, _they _were divinity with compassion… they were everything, anything, all at once. They could cry and laugh and sing and scream in the same breath- reprimand and praise in the same glance." His hardened face softened slightly. Deryne's eyes fell to the floor once more. "You cannot imagine what we lost," he murmured, gaze far-off still. "Which is for the best, really- it might kill you, to understand what this world has lost." Then he blinked, and grinned. "And then where would I be? Trapped, with no mortal instrument through which to command the swiftly unfolding events." He held out an arm to her, gallantly bowing. She hesitated. "I've protected you thus far, Queenscove- don't trouble yourself about trespassing here, either- you have passage to anywhere with your power." Shaking his head with a knowing smile, he chuckled once more as she lay a hand on his muscular arm. "North winds know, you are no mere mortal." Before Deryne could challenge that, he rolled his eyes, waving a hand at her to silence any questions. "In the grand scheme of things, I mean," he said impatiently. "Not when everything is seen in perspective. It's slightly complex, but anyone who _knows _would agree with me. Really, believe me, I cannot elaborate any further- there _are _rules to this game, some even _I _cannot bend- you'll understand, sooner or later." He paused. "Hopefully." Their surroundings faded- then they were on the shore again. "Look over there, Queenscove." He pointed west, and she followed his eyes out across the sea, until she could see no further. "_No_," the god said, sounding irked. "Look _further_." Before she could protest that she could not possibly see beyond the horizon, he touched her forehead, and a race of images ran through her mind- _gudruna_, speeding towards the sunset…. Across the ocean, dipping into the waves-

There was magic, magic as old and powerful as her own- she dove through it, ignoring its sting as it tried to chase her away, to hide whatever lingered within the waves….

And the sand. And… walls. The walls of a city. Deryne froze.

"The island," she whispered, a chill of understanding bitter in her veins. A city in the ocean, hidden by magic. Frejonak chuckled.

"_One _island," he said, as though correcting her, but she barely listened. "Yes. The home of the _Seraph- _the Children of the Unnamed." He waved a hand, and a chess board materialized before them. Deryne frowned; Numair had once told them a story about the gods' games- that he and Daine had been pawns in the last battle against Chaos. Each piece had been a different person, god, or immortal in the Immortals War.

"But these are ordinary chess pieces," she said aloud; Myles had similar ones in his study back in Corus.

"Because there are many games going on, at once," Frejonak explained, tapping a side of the board, at which time the figures changed- the king was Mithros, the queen the Goddess… Frejonak and a dark haired goddess- Yama, Deryne suspected- were the bishops. Another god- one who reminded her of Han- and the Wavewalker were the rooks. She scanned the other pieces- they blurred, making it difficult to make out the features of any of the others… but of one thing she was sure.

"We aren't here," she said slowly, and Frejonak chuckled darkly.

"How shocked you would be, if you could see this clearly," he muttered in her ear. Then he sobered. "Are you certain?" Deryne frowned, but before she could open her mouth to confirm her statement, the four gods disappeared, leaving others in their place. The squire's jaw dropped, for there, as bishops and rooks, stood Rikash, Cyne, Han, and herself. Frejonak chuckled. "And here is _another _board-" He tapped her miniature's head gently, and suddenly _she _was the queen, with Cyne as her bishop- Before she could see who the others were, he tapped one of her pawns. "And _another-_" Now Roald stood as king, surveying the board grimly- "And _another_-" Then Leoraed, the heir, took his father's place at the head of the board. Frejonak kept tapping figures, making boards vanish and reform quicker than she could process; she kept her eyes on the king, barely managing to identify one before another would pop up in its place- Numair, Cadel, the Lioness- others she did not recognize….

"All right," she said loudly, holding up a hand, and the board dissipated, fading into the air. "There are a lot of games going on… why don't you just up and tell me what that means?" Her head ached. Frejonak snorted.

"Don't you think I would if I could?" he asked.

"No," she said shortly. "Gods like complications." The god laughed grimly.

"Believe me," he said in a low voice. "We all want this over, but we have no control- I can't even _show _you the boards properly-" He jerked a hand down to where the chess pieces had lined up before her. "The universe rides on a precarious balance, and the gods are becoming pawns," he hissed. "By the end, my brother and sisters and I will be gone- trust it, Queenscove. And we will not be the only ones of divine blood to fall." His brilliant eyes blazed, burning Deryne's vision; she flinched away, hands to her face, trying to block out the light. She was slipping, fading into unconsciousness. Frejonak's voice "Gaian and Yama cannot protect their chosen as I can you- They grow weak as your friend approach the Seraph. You must leave." When his lips touched her forehead, a jolt of white light raked across her body and _gudruna _along with it- soaring over mountains, the doors to the Chamber, and a Vent she had never seen before. She stiffened as his voice whispered in her ear with the snarl of the north wind. "We may never speak again, Deryne of Queenscove, but I will be there, every step you take_. This I vow; so mote it be_."

* * *

As Sir Myles dropped off into sleep, quill in hand, the clouds passed over the moon, sending the room into darkness. A small, sharp puff of wind snuffed out the candles around the desk, and all was still.

A tall figure robed in black stepped out from the shelves behind the old scholar. Silently, he made his way to the man's side, his hand raised-

"Stop!" Although Myles heard nothing, the robed silhouette turned his head; a light flashed before the desk, and a wave of heat raced through the room as a woman with golden skin materialized. Tossing her dark tresses, she strode forwards, fire blazing in her eyes. "We had a deal- you were not to touch him. We _need _him." A faint, bluish glow appeared behind the spot where the woman had dramatically entered- A beautiful, nymph-like woman solidified, her wet hair sticking to her body like seaweed. She stared silently at her two fellows with large blue eyes.

Everyone stood for a long moment like that- one hand outstretched towards the sleeping mortal they surrounded, a fierce expression daring him to go any further, the soft sounding of water droplets the only sound in the room.

"The Black God knows there is a balance," a deep voice spoke from behind all three. "Yama, we all know this." The fire goddess spun around to glower at the new speaker.

"We also know that without _him_-" She jerked a finger at Sir Myles just as a soft snore escaped the old man. "-_all _of us are lost, Gaian. There won't _be _any realms of the dead to take him to!" Gaian surveyed each of his siblings.

"There _must _be balance," he said gently. "It is not his _choice _to take the scholar- the balance _demands _it." Yama snorted, waving a hand to silence him.

"We already made a deal."

"But it was not pernament- it gave us more time, time that is up now." Yama glowered.

"So we make another deal!" She turned to the Black God. "Take another lord's son, another knight-" The hooded figure shook his head.

"There would be no balance," Gaian said darkly. "His death would hurt our cause greatly; we must choose another who would hurt our cause just as much." Dead silence filled the room when the Black God nodded. Yama's eyes glittered.

"This is your justice?" she hissed. "Your judgment has been made?" Her fists clenched. Then she whipped around. "Myles of Olau is one of the few who are completely irreplaceable," she snapped. "Leoraed of Conte has brothers-"

"No," Gaian said firmly. "Absolutely not." Yama took a step towards her brother. "He is like his grandfather-" The Wavewalker froze as Yama stalked past her to argue. "-a king of greatness will be needed in these times-"

"Then the favorite. The knight-" Gaian shook his head, face grave. The Wavewalker stepped towards Myles and closed her eyes in thought.

"It is already written that he will be the one to-" Yama snorted.

"Is he the _only _one who could-"

"Yes. There is not another one in this world," Gaian replied steadily, meeting her furious eyes. "He is the one." The fire in her gaze died down; Yama let out a small huff as she pursed her lips, thinking.

"Then the seer-"

"You jest, surely." She glared..

"You leave me with one last choice. The girl." Gaian's face tightened. The Wavewalker's eyes flew open, alarm obvious. Yama pressed her lips taunt as she turned to the Black God. "Kill her and leave Myles of Olau."

"That would destroy many of ours," Gaian said quietly. Yama scowled.

"But you _know _she is the only one who could satisfy this _balance _of yours." Both fire and earth turned their gazes to the Judge of mortals. Gaian bowed his head and cleared his throat.

"_So mote_-"

_Wait! _The Wavewalker rose herself to her full height, and fixed her stare on the Black God. _She is young. There is another, who would do far less damage. _She paused. _One who has already served the world as he was destined to serve- but powerful enough to take the place over which we fight. He has but one duty left, one debt owed to the balance. _The other gods froze as his face was revealed to them. _He shall die in her stead, and the balance will be satiated._

"But only for another while," Gaian said slowly. The Wavewalker's eyes did not leave her robed brother, who now stepped away from the mortal he had come to take.

_We only need another while- not long, my brother. _She bowed her head, her neck curved gracefully to the Black God. _You know of whom I speak. Allow Myles of Olau a little more time to dwell here, and summon the king to final rest. _She looked up into the shadowed face of Death, eyes unwavering. _So has it been seen. So has it been spoken. So mote it be.

* * *

_


	19. Chapter 18: Trust

_AN: I'm back again! Thanks to reviewers **renagirl**, **SarahE7191**, **Shang Leopard**, **twilightm00n**, **Eternityfalls**, **MaxCullen-Whitlock**, **Cymru na Alethaira**, and **KyrieofAccender**, my beta. :D  


* * *

_

_Chapter 18 _

_Trust_

"How are you, Numair?" The black mage smiled at the sound of the voice of his old king and close friend. He replied into the speaking spell with a wryness that betrayed none of his gladness at finally speaking once more to Jonathan of Conte.

"Exhausted and bewildered and mildly worried," he answered. "I hope your pupil down there in the desert isn't turning half as many of your hairs white as mine are. My dyes' cost is rising steadily by the day, I'm afraid." Jon chuckled.

"What is wrong now?" he asked, and Numair's brow furrowed; he had to be careful, even when talking to Jon about his three students and their Kyprian friend… close friend he might be, but also a shrewd monarch to the bone, even after he abdicated to instate his son Roald as king of Tortall.

"They are on a mission, an unofficial mission that might save us from Scanra and their new allies- or destroy us, if the Chancellor plays his cards right." There was a very long pause, one that gave the seasoned mage a sudden urge to squirm like a novice in a master's class back in the university.

"Does Roald know about this?" Jon queried; Numair could almost see the knowing smile on the man's face. The mage sighed.

"Parts. Very, very small parts." Nothing of importance, really….

"I see." Jon was trying not to laugh.

"I am trying to protect him from liability," was the stiff retort. "Scanra could label it as treachery, and better that Roald know nothing-" It was Jon's turn to sigh.

"Numair, I know that everything you do is in Tortall's best interests-"

"He could mobilize his armies against us, and then the entire nation would be razed to the ground!" Numair exclaimed.

"I doubt that; we have the Dominion Jewel, remember?" _But Roald cannot wield it like you can, _Numair silently argued. "But a ruler must be able to answer for his country, and his subjects must accept that the king _must _be liable- You were my friend, as well as my strongest mage, Numair, and that meant I left many affairs to your own discretion… but you and Roald do not have the same relationship. How is _he _supposed to trust you?" Numair rolled his eyes. "If not all the details, my son must have an _inkling _of what you have planned."

"I will inform His Majesty at earliest convinence," he said dully. "Now, Jon, tell me about how these Bahzir have been treating you."

* * *

Deryne rolled off her cot as her eyes shot open- she was on her feet a second later. Her kestrel swept across the room.

_Good timing, _the Chamber said. _The gates of the city will only be open for another hour before they are Sealed shut. We _must _leave now. _Deryne shot him a look.

"Did you know about- what just happened?" she asked, referring to her dream. "You- well, Duskwing- was in it."

_Frejonak is a pompous, showy ass, _It replied primly. _Wake Cyne. _Sighing, the squire made her way across the room to shake her friend awake.

As she explained, the other girl frowned sleepily, turning to Damek.

"He's going to be asleep for a while longer," she said, worry in her voice.

_Tell the watermage that help is on the way- she doesn't have to worry about her lover, but she won't be seeing him for awhile. _Duskwing alighted on a rafter and shook himself. Deryne translated, making the message slightly less blunt. Cyne's gaze traveled back to Damek, and she sighed.

"I won't be able to wake him up," she whispered, approaching him.

"He's in a deep sleep," Deryne agreed, watching as the Kyprian reached for something around her neck, then pulled it up and over her head. Both girls saw the glow of the sea glass talisman as moonlight struck it- Cyne opened Damek's palm and put the glass in his hand. She ran a hand over his forehead tenderly, then stood.

_You… are an idiot. _The Chamber was addressing Cyne. Deryne rolled her eyes. _That is power, Queenscove- her _link _to the Wavewalker! _

_She'll be fine. Damek will be on his own- the four of us will be together soon. _Fleetingly, she thought of Rikash and Han, riding after Tezock. The Chamber snorted.

_How sweet. I'm sure your sentimentality will crush all our enemies to dust. _Deryne grinned.

"Good plan. And if that doesn't work, Rikash will blast them to smithereens. That ought to cover everything."

* * *

Merle and Brand walked several paces behind Kol and stopped as the boy walked up to the door of the safe house. He knocked, gingerly. A gust of wind tore around the two Kyprians as they waited; with a shiver, Merle stepped closer to Brand, forcing herself not to look at him as Kol banged on the door again. He glanced back at them, uncertain, then reached for the handle, which gave under his hand. He peeked inside, then looked back at the two others, face unreadable.

"Damek is here," he stated, and Merle's knees nearly gave with relief. She and Brand exchanged smiles, then followed Kol into the innocuous home. Damek was sleeping on the floor, a note by his side. While Merle wondered if she should pry, Brand crossed the room and snatched the paper up. As a sound of protest escaped her lips, her friend unfolded the parchment and scanned it with a businesslike air.

"Brand-"

"I would prefer to know what's going on," he said slowly. "According to this, Cyne and Deryne left- maybe an hour ago, or less." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kol frown, briefly wondered if the Tortallan shiphand was smitten with the Kyprian princess, and suppressed a dry chuckle. He gingerly placed the letter back next to Damek's cot. "They did not want to wake him-"

"So that leaves us to watch him," Merle grumbled, aq small smile playing across her lips. "I ought not be surprised she leaves us with beau-watching." Brand snorted.

"If you think we'll be bored, think again," he told her flatly as he sat down, kicking off his boots. Interlocking his fingers, he stuck his hands behind his head and lay down. "The gates to the city are sealed shut, and we're going to have to get out of this city as fast as we can."

* * *

It was dawn when Rikash pulled his exhausted mount to a halt. Han turned back, eyebrow raised quizzically, as the firemage dismounted and tugged his horse off of the path. He shot a dark look at his friend.

"I am not going to ride him to death," he said flatly, patting the horse's neck. "And I'll fall off of him in a few more minutes, anyway. _And_ Tezock is getting further and further from us, even if we push, which we can't without killing _someone_." He waved a hand at their steeds. "We should wait for the girls." With that, he stalked off through the woods, trying to find a place to rest. A moment later, Han followed, and together they set up camp.

It took a matter of moments to collect a pile of wood, at which Rikash hardly glanced as it caught flame. The protective circle was another matter entirely; Han was left puzzling out a complex spell in which he was also attempting to leave a loophole for Deryne's magic.

"Forget it," Rikash growled as he plopped himself down by the fire. "Gods help the man or beast who tries to wake me up." Han suppressed a smile, then shook his head and turned back to the working. It was several more moments before he finally tapped the ground with a satisfied nod, and turned back to join Rikash.

"Can you hear her?" he asked. Rikash lay down on his bedroll with a scowl.

"Why should I be able to?" he asked.

"Perhaps you should try to reach out and call her," his friend answered mildly. "So that they can find us."

"Isn't that _her _job, the reaching and the calling?"

"Most of the time." Rikash turned away from the light of the fire, curling up in the blanket with a snort of derision. "The sooner they come, the sooner we finish this."

"How would I even try?" he replied, trying to sound dismissive and uninterested.

"I dunno- try thinking about her." There was a glimmer of humor in the earthmage's voice, a quiet laughter that made Rikash want to throw a fireball at him to silence him. Inexplicable good humor was rarely a good thing.

Deryne. The last time they had talked, he had warned her to be careful. And they had hugged. He had not wrapped his arms around her since Roger had possessed Malvyn and killed Inar. For months, she had been so upset, so unfocused- He could remember shouting at her for endangering Han's life when they fought Shadows, as they sought out every gateway into Chaos and Sealed them. It had been dirty, hard work, reminding him of the extermination of an infestation of insects, or rodents…. They exploited every crack between worlds, and they came in the thousands.

But she had reminded him more of her old self in Frasluk; sharp, witty, even if there was a hardness to the line of her jaw that he could not recall seeing before all those events of a year ago…. Or maybe it had been more time- ever since they had fought at Pirate's Swoop, and he had decided to enter the university, so that he wouldn't have to see her; he had been sick of her, afraid of her, ashamed of himself, angry at everyone he saw-

No, the last moment of their old friendship, of the old Deryne, he decided, was when they stood on the deck of the Swoop's tower and he had offered to help her control her _gudruna_…. And then he had asked for her to help him show the others a whirlwind of fire and wind, and Cyne had added her power to it.

He still shuddered at the memory of the sudden rush of power, that power that ripped his control away and threatened to take everything he had- it had not been his power, nor Deryne's, or Cyne's… it had been something much more archaic, much more fierce and uncontrollable. And, scared out of his mind, he pinned the blame on Deryne, and he had abused her until he broke her, until she snapped- until her good-humor vanished and the fury he now knew her for rose to the surface.

She had lost her temper. But he had lashed out right back- not in defense, because her magic pulled back as soon as she realized what she was doing, but in vengeance. He closed his eyes tighter, trying to picture her standing on the beach, laughing, but all he could see was her tear-stricken confusion. Other images poured into his mind- her disbelief that he defended Malvyn against her, her grief after Inar stepped between her and the death spell Roger aimed at her, her fury every time they sparred…

And her apologizing to him. Standing, in the midst of hundreds of courtiers, contemplating the night, and explained the particulars of the night Malvyn had betrayed him, and cried. And how his blood had boiled when Roger sought them out, interrupting her as they spoke. How he wanted to protect that moment of peace between them, keep that smile on her face, the light in her crystalline eyes-

And then they had danced, and the blonde had interrupted… and he had had the chance to let her into his mind. But he had not opened up to her… had not trusted her enough, not then and there.

Now, he relaxed, allowing his mind to reach out, linger on Frasluk- had she left yet? He could picture her riding, her grace present no matter what the occasion, her own mind, searching, wondering where he was…. He could almost hear her, slightly frustrated, muttering to herself as she sought them out.

_Come on, Ri, where are you? _

_Here, _he tried to say, not entirely certain where _here _was. He relaxed further, thinking of just one word, one face, one name…

_Deryne, Deryne, Deryne- _She was his friend, and it was time for him to trust her.

_Ri? _He could sense her, fleeting conciousness on the outskirts of his; she stayed back, barely skimming his mind as he ran through the path he and Han had taken. He felt as though she sat next to him, her presence close but not smothering; she had learned, since the first time she had tried it with him. _All right. I see you. We're coming, Rikash- we're coming. _He felt her smile, then sank into sleep as she disappeared.

* * *

Vanora's lips pursed as the arrow thudded into the target; it was _close _to the circular center… just not close enough. Determinedly ignoring the Crown Prince standing beside her, she picked another arrow and aimed.

"Your stance is off." In a swift motion, she whipped around to glare at Leoraed of Conte, who stepped back to give her lowered but still strung bow a wide berth. His face was blank when he met her gaze. Vanora's eyes narrowed marginally. She hated the inscrutable look- it waited patiently for her, inviting her to speak her thoughts. Right now, she was certain any comeback would fall flat; he would nod, or smile, like a ruler humoring a bad-tempered subject. He was already a king, in little ways- the gentle compassion he used with girls, the way he was always in control without demanding it- his peers fell respectfully silent, treated him with the reverence his position demanded… unlike her. Vanora winced inwardly- _she _felt provoked, whenever he assumed that regal air… which inevitably ended up with her saying something stupid.

"So?" was her sharp reply, shooting him a dark look. "I'm just better with closer, moving targets." Wonderful. She had just threatened the heir to the throne. Leo's lips twitched.

"Everyone has areas to improve in," he said in a light, ironic voice she recognized; he was laughing at her, in his quiet way. She deflated, sighing.

"At least I didn't say that in front of anyone else," she muttered. "Otherwise the spymaster would come put me under lock and key." Leo raised an eyebrow.

"I'd come rescue you." A soft laugh slipped from her lips. "Fight off all the guards and help you to a waiting horse for a quick escape." The mere thought made her shake her head, concealing a smile.

"Thanks." Then she turned back to the target. "Every lady needs a knight in shining armor," she said dryly, knowing that the comment would earn her an eye roll from everyone she knew. Still, it warmed her insides, to think that-

"And every man needs a woman with a lethal shot," he retorted. "_I _happen to be the one holding up my end of the deal in this case. Feet closer together." She shifted as she fixed her gaze on the target; he wasn't a knight _yet_.

"Yes, Squire. Remember to shine your master's armor for me when you leave." She snuck a quick look at him and was rewarded with the sight of a startled Leo staring at her. "After all, I couldn't bear to look at him if the plates weren't polished enough." She smiled smugly; no matter _how many times _she took a jab at him, she always managed to surprise him.

_I should be insulted, _she thought idly as she loosed; she was even further from the center than her last shot. But she wasn't- it delighted her, that she could set him off-balance, when he was someone who rarely showed strong emotion.

"I suppose you'll have to look at me instead," the youth at her side said slowly, and Vanora froze as a wave of heat spread across her. Her eyes shot up to meet the prince's level gaze, but then she ducked her head. Then she winced; _that _made her look guilty, didn't it? Well, she couldn't look up again now-

_Guilty of _what_? _

"Glaring furiously," she muttered, tongue clumsy. She wasn't guilty of _anything_… except being as stupid as every other young noble lady at court. She was Leo's _friend_- he was helping her train so that she could be one of his mother's ladies-in-waiting! That was more valuable, more special, than- "How about glaive practice?"

"You did that this morning." Vanora tensed as she fumbled for another arrow.

"You seem to know everything about my life," she said, trying to be light-hearted.

"You train at the same time as my mother. She and her ladies were on the courts this morning." Twice a fool! Vanora's eyes fell shut as she simmered with humiliation. Of course he knew because his mother had had glaive practice since before he was born! _Goddess, stitch my mouth closed! _

"I should see how Cor is doing," she said softly.

"Cor is fine." Leo reached out and took the arrow from her hand. "Stop running away, Vanora." A thrill ran through her as the second meaning hit her- but he clearly meant stop avoiding archery practice, didn't he? She closed her eyes.

"I'm not running away," she said feebly as he unwrapped her fingers from around her bow so he could take it himself.

"Aren't you?" he muttered as he drew it in one graceful, practiced motion. She watched with a twinge of envy and admiration as he sighted and released. His face was smooth, the Conte nose distinctly marking his profile as that of royalty. Vanora bit her lip; he was handsome, and he looked older than he was- she suspected it was the burden of everything demanded of him… but he seemed like any other youth in the yards now, in his practice clothes, as dirty as anyone's. His face was relaxed, despite the cool focus; she would like to think that was because he was comfortable with her, that he trusted her and liked her… which of course he did; they were friends. Good friends. He frowned. "Huh." Vanora tore her eyes from his face to look at the target. Then she raised an eyebrow.

His arrow was as far away from the center as hers. She glanced at him with suspicion; was he trying to make her feel better? Did he think she had _no _pride? She _was_ the daughter of Lady Keladry….

Leo was testing the bow, brow furrowed.

"No wonder," he said with a small chuckle. He looked up at her, eyes glittering. "You need a new bow." He raised an eyebrow at her, and Vanora couldn't help it- she burst into a fit of giggles. "The balance is off."

"You never should have doubted me." Leo watched her for a moment, then laughed, raising a hand to rub the back of his head- he was sheepish, amused- and endearing_. It wasn't fair! _Vanora ranted inwardly despite her mirth. It was a small wonder that every girl fell in love with him- not that she was _in love_. Her mother had once had a soft spot for her best friend, Neal- but she recovered, soon enough, to marry Domitan of Masbolle. She would get over this, soon enough- as soon as she found another youth who-

"Never," he agreed, brilliant smile making her legs tremble. Doubt suddenly filled her; another youth, quite like Leo? No, never- there was no one who could come close. She groaned inwardly, wondering how her mother had survived without making a complete fool of herself. She might need a few pointers… "I'll be right back with weapons worthy of you, my lady-" He leapt down the stairs, black hair whipping around in the breeze. Vanora rolled her eyes.

"Hurry back, valiant sir," she called, and he turned, still grinning.

"Your wish is my command," he answered before starting off. Vanora furiously berated herself as her heart beated a little faster.

"Leo!" The voice came from behind Vanora. Both the prince and his friend turned. Queen Shinkokami was there, walking, very quickly, towards her son. Leo's face instantly recomposed itself; he took several steps back to meet his mother, and Vanora descended the stairs to stand by his side, concerned. "I have to speak with my son, Vanora," the woman said once she had reached them, and the girl noticed the brightness of her queen's eyes with a surprised jolt. She curtsied deeply, but before she could move, Leo's hand snaked out to grab her wrist.

"What is it, Mother?" he asked quietly. "Does she have to- can she listen?" He had a sudden sense of forbodding- he didn't want Vanora leaving now. The queen took a deep breath and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Your Majesty, I-" Vanora fell silent when Shinkokami nodded once.

"Stay, then-" She took a deep breath. "Leo, it's-" She paused, then started again. "Your squire duties have been postponed- you will serve here, at the castle, among other duties- royal ones-" Leo's brow furrowed- there were tears in her eyes.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, worry choking his voice- he had not let go of Vanora yet. His mother's eyes fell to the ground.

"We need you to begin your royal duties as Crown Prince. As heir," she said, voice wavering. Then she locked gazes with him. Her voice was gentle but level when she next spoke. "The old king- your grandfather- is dead."


	20. Chapter 19: When It Rains

AN: I am VERY sorry this took such a long while, especially since all of this is still more building plot and details... this is the calm before the big storm, so be prepared in the next few chapters for a lot of big action... it's probably about time, right? :)

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed- **renagirl**, **SarahE7191**, **MaxCullen-Whitlock**, **Chips!**, **Evilstrawberry**, **Dragonfly257**. I am, again, very sorry for the delay. There's a lot of life and sports and college apps and portfolios to be completed....

* * *

_Chapter 19_

_When It Rains_

It was a dream. Kol was standing in his uncle's sick room, standing over the shivering girl. They had covered her in many blankets and stoked the fire, but nothing seemed to break her fever. His uncle, a wide, bearded fellow, stood on the other side of the bed, gazing grimly into his patient's face.

"Can you heal her?" Kol heard himself ask softly, and his uncle's eyes darkened.

"She has the Gift, Kol- it is strong enough to fight off this illness, but she is untrained… and untrained little ones with this much power have a horrible tendency to block my own magic. It will be up to her, if she survives or not…." The large man fixed Kol with a long stare. "And to you, too, perhaps." Kol's brow narrowed in confusion, but his uncle had already taken his small hands in his large palms. "Stay," he ordered, placing Kol's fingertips on the girl's pale skin. "Don't move- and call me if-"

"_Kol!_" Jerking awake, the youth turned to Merle, who fixed him with a disapproving stare. Sometimes, he thought the scowling redhead could read his thoughts and knew he had met with the Chancellor. He resisted the urge to reach for the medallion under his tunic. "Stay awake, will you? Why should we even bother keeping watch if you can't keep your eyes open, eh?" He colored; after Brand had left to scout out their situation trapped in the city, he and Merle had alternated taking quick naps and keeping an eye on Damek and the quiet street outside. He rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, thoughts turning back to his dream. It was not a real dream, more of a memory- Merle snapped her fingers brusquely under his nose.

"You're doing it again already," she retorted. "Snap out of it!" He blinked several times, trying to send more vigor to his drooping eyelids. She snorted. "I suppose we'll just have to keep each other up, then." He wanted to protest; after all, who was going to hunt them down? He had the sinking suspicion that, if the Chancellor had sent him after the two Kyprians, there was little threat from the Scanrans.

"Tell me about your family," his companion demanded, plopping down on the floor to stretch her legs. She bent over gracefully, then turned to glare back at him.

"Why?" the boy asked, then regretted it as her eyes narrowed.

"_Because_," she said slowly. "It is very possible we'll be cooped up with each other for a _very long time_."

* * *

The Black God swept down the streets of Rasda, a Carthaki city wracked with the plague. Many dying cries echoed through the buildings and people writhed in pain in doorways and alleys; everywhere the dark shadow wandered, his gentle touch stilled moans and tormented dreams.

"Are you proud of yourself?" the woman striding along behind him demanded, ignoring the strife surrounding her. She tossed her black hair. "Now I hear we've only bought them a _little _more time- not nearly enough! Does even the death of the mightiest kings not appeal to you?" She listened for a moment, then snorted dismissively. "The old man's life becomes more and more costly as the days wear on? So even Jonathon of Conte's death was not enough to satiate you? That is why _this_-" She swept her hand to the adobe structures around them. "-has happened? The death of Tortall's old king _and _hundreds of innocents?"

"I thought you cared not who died," another voice answered. Frejonak, God of the North Wind, materialized at the woman's side. "Sister, what _should _concern you is that _next _time, the plague will strike closer to home." She arched her eyebrows.

"The Realm of the Gods does not know nor care of mortal illness-" He snorted.

"I mean the heart of the balance we are trying to save. I mean Tortall." He smiled grimly, showing his brilliantly white teeth. "I mean Corus." His face softened as his vocal companion shared her thoughts. "We cannot stave off this forever; eventually, that which we are trying to avoid and the cost for avoiding it will collide, with more consequences than we can count, Yama." The fire goddess gazed first at him, then at the silent God of Death, and finally at the distress surrounding them. Several looters with rags over their faces raced past, oblivious to the presence of the three divine beings in their midst.

"We have so little time left?" she asked softly. "Before Chaos breaks free? Before the scales _must _move?" Frejonak's eyes locked with the darkness beneath the hood of the Black God as the caped shadow turned towards them.

"Even less than you think. I fear we cannot hold back the tides of change any longer."

* * *

The Gods were crying. Vanora outlined the edge of the pane of glass listlessly as she gazed out of the window, out at the drenched parade grounds. Several grooms were ushering mounts out of the pouring rain while their riders hastily made for shelter. She had cried a little earlier, but the pain she felt was on her friend's behalf, on the behalf of Tortall. Even her mother had shed tears, and she had never been fond of the old king, who had never given her the same chance as the other boy pages.

"I have a terrible feeling about this," Kel had told Dom when she had thought Vanora was out of earshot. "Killed… by raiders out in the desert. Meanwhile, in Scanra-" The lady knight's voice dropped to an even lower hush then, and Vanora could no longer hear. But all the palace knew _something _was wrong…. Mages and scholars rushed in and out of the king's presence at all times, Numair Salmalin looked as though he had not slept since the Tortallan delegation had left…. There was a rumor of a new evil, greater than the Shadows….

"I haven't seen him since last spring." Vanora turned her head away from the rain, into the tiny nook of the royal library to which she and Leo had snuck off. Leo's face was buried in his hands; he sat on the floor, back against the wall. "He gave me…" He trailed off. Vanora waited for a long moment, listening to the pounding rush of the rain. She tucked her knees under her chin, wrapped her arms tightly around her legs. She was about to speak when he looked up at her for the first time since they had sat down; his eyes were red, his face pale. "His ring." Vanora's eyes widened. "I didn't realize, at the time… the importance…." He closed his eyes and leaned back, head tilted up towards the ceiling. "Royal custom states that a king keeps his signet ring until death, that if his son should take the throne before then, then the son will keep the ring of the heir- ring of the prince- until the death of his father. _Then _he inherits the King's Ring and passes his own onto his own heir." Troubled, he reached under his tunic and revealed a long silver chain with a ring on it. He stared at it intently; Vanora watched his face. "But Grandfather gave it to _me_."

"Are you going to keep it?" she asked softly. Leo bit his lip.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't even know _why _he-" He fell silent as footsteps echoed dimly through the stacks. Neither he nor Vanora spoke until the muffled sound had long faded. With a sigh, he shook his head. "I want to figure that out first," he muttered, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the silver dangling from his fist.

"Ask Sir Myles," Vanora suggested, and a small smile crept across her friend's face.

"The answer to everything," he commented wryly as he tucked the chain back underneath his shirt. Then, resolved, he locked gazes with Vanora. She had to resist the urge to gulp; even with reddened eyes and dishelved appearance, he looked like a prince. "Come with me?"

"When it rains, it pours," Myles muttered to himself as the Crown prince and Keladry's daughter sat down. Behind him, Cadel was glancing through pages and pages of notes, referencing a translation text with a faint frown. "No one but Irnai for weeks, no news or further developments… and then everything happens, all at once." He leveled Leoraed of Conte with a firm stare. "You know that if Jon gave you the ring, he wanted you to have it?"

"I supposed so, sir," Leo said uncertainly. Myles raised an eyebrow.

"And you also know the crisis it will be if and when your father realizes the ring is missing?" The prince's cheeks flushed, but he returned the old scholar's gaze. "And you cannot possibly reveal that you have it _and _keep it. Custom dictates- well, you know what the tradition is." Myles sighed heavily. "It will be a harsh morale blow to discover the signet ring has disappeared, but your father has had enough of those lately that this one will be relatively small in comparison."

"You mean trouble with the Scanrans?" Leo prompted, eyes narrowing. Myles sighed again, settling back in his chair. He half-smiled as he realized how Cadel had reacted to the question- he stared at the parchment, clearly not working, but listening, back straight and fingers tense. Although he was working with Myles, the old knight had not yet enclosed the details of the Scanran delegation with Cadel. Vanora also watched him with curiosity.

"Now, I might disagree with your father in his decision to keep the Crown Prince out of such matters, but I will obey his mandate to remain silent." Leo groaned, sliding back in his chair. "But we are all blundering around in the dark, Your Highness." The boy's eyes snapped back to Myles.

"Which means unfamiliar territory, even for Master Salmalin," Leo said slowly, fixing the scholar with a gleam in his eyes. Myles smiled to himself; he could practically see the youth's mind working. "Magic… creatures that we have not seen before. But that would not matter… unless there was something special about these beings. If it was just three-headed spidren or a winged centaur, the Own and Riders and knights could just kill this new trouble like anything else." Still the old man said nothing. Leo continued to voice his thoughts aloud. "So it is something similar to the Shadows and their Vents, perhaps. Requires magic…." His brow furrowed. "But that would not account for the amount of research that _you_ are doing- they would only make you work so hard if the task was only something _you _could do… which means anything and everything obscure and ancient. Which means they know nothing about this new threat. Besides, the Vents have never caused such a problem for Master Salmalin. In Tortall, we have more than enough mage power… which means power is not the problem. It is finesse- it is knowing who the enemy _is_." Myles nodded deeply in appreciation. "And the enemy probably has some sort of odd quirk, like the Shadows… some origin in Chaos… because Rikash, Deryne, and Han were sent with the delegation." Myles raised an eyebrow.

"Deryne went with her knight master. Rikash and Han went to take care of some reports of a Vent in Orgin." Leo raised an eyebrow in reply, a faint smile crossing his face.

"_Right. _Because the two of them _usually _close Vents by themselves… without Master Salmalin." Myles struggled not to laugh at the prince's pique.

"Master Salmalin is needed in the capital now for correspondence and serves in an advisory role until any dangers have passed."

"Meaning he needs to protect my father… even from whatever news the good mage _has _gotten from his son and the others." Myles sputtered.

"Beg pardon?" He gawked at the youth for a moment, wondering if the boy could possibly either have the Sight or even read minds. Vanora and Cadel were staring in confusion at their friend, who shrugged.

"It isn't hard to know when someone is holding information back," he muttered, clearly regretting mentioning it. "Even if I don't know _what _isn't being said." Myles was half-tempted to tell the boy sitting before him there and then the trouble; certainly he deserved it, if he could deduct everything from the nature of the danger to Numair's protectiveness over his students' abilities and the extent of their mission in Scanra.

"Well," Myles managed. "Feel free to help Cadel with those translations. Perhaps you three will catch something I missed."

* * *

That morning, Rikash woke to see that the vegetation around them had grown around Han during the night, as though to protect him from the cold. Unlike Rikash, who had yet to feel chilled, even after the bitter night, Han had shivered his way north. Trying to be quiet, Rikash raised a hand, cautiously calling upon his magic to warm Han; he did not want to burn his friend accidentally.

He sat in silence for a long time, wondering when Deryne and Cyne would arrive. He did not worry about the shielding spell masking their presence from Deryne; as long as there was air, she could not be stopped.

Except by this Tezock. Tezock. Tezock, who had acted as though he had known Rikash, had greeted him like an old friend…. The firemage ran a hand through his hair. Cyne had mentioned a little of what the creature had said to her- he had wondered if she were a goddess, or an elemental… he had wanted to protect his identity from her… But _then _he seemed to realize who- or what- she was, and his reaction was similar to his actions when he had spoken to Rikash. Tezock seemed to think that Cyne would _help _him… help his people. He had said _all four. _Rikash refused to even consider that the demon had meant anything but the four of them. He had been right, when he had snapped at his father: _Four. _The damned number was everywhere. Somehow, Tezock thought _they _would help _him… _it never seemed to register with him that they were on opposite sides of this brewing war.

He did not know how long he had sat stewing in his thoughts when Han sat up, wide awake.

"They're coming," he said, standing. Rikash did not move; he simple listened, ears straining for the sound of hooves that would not reach his ears for awhile. Finally, he picked up the soft sound and rose. The hooves became louder and louder, but slower- the uneven rhythm of two riders became distinguishable a few moments before the figures became visible among the trees. Cyne was looking every which way in puzzlement, but Deryne had her eyes fixed on the camp, smiling slightly. Rikash felt an odd jolt in his stomach as she locked eyes with him- it was an eerie sensation, because he knew she could not literally _see _him… but she could sense him with her _gudruna_. She knew he was looking at her, that their eyes met, but there was no link between them, despite the look of recognition in her gaze.

"Drop the shield," Rikash grumbled, loathing the chills his thoughts were giving him. A moment later, Cyne's face was alit with relief as the camp was finally revealed to her, and both girls dismounted. Deryne smirked, hands outspread.

"What? No food?" she drawled.

"We figured we'd wait for you to show up with some," Han replied, striding forth to give her a quick hug. He did the same for Cyne. Rikash narrowed his eyes; what _was _it with them and embraces? Always, the little greetings- why did they do that? He would feel awkward beyond words if he went around wrapping his arms around anyone and everyone he saw. He nodded when he caught Deryne's gaze.

"Bread's in the usual pack," he said, jerking his head at Han's saddlebags. She nodded; the routine was familiar, since they had traveled across Tortall to seal Vents in the past year. Once she retrieved the loaf, she ripped off a small piece and chucked it at Rikash before handing a bigger piece to Cyne.

"I hope you two lugs are ready to go," she said cheerfully. Rikash raised an eyebrow.

"You just rode through the night," he retorted. "You can't kill your horses."

"We rested for awhile," was her reply. For whatever reason, her calmness was irritating him. "We've only been up now for an hour, and we're ready to keep moving. After all, I can't see Tezock taking many breaks." He scowled.

"We lost Tezock." Deryne snorted. "What's that?" he snapped. She shrugged, then turned to address Han.

"Together, you and I can probably cast a spell wide enough to sense a void in our magic- wherever the void is, we'll find Tezock." Han nodded. Rikash stuffed his bread into his mouth as his two friends sat down to begin. Cyne tried to catch his eye, but he only lay back down on his blanket to glare up at the sky. He knew from experience that the next spell could take five minutes or five hours. He could feel their power growing, Deryne's thickening the air and Han's rushing through the ground underneath his body….

He shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep.


	21. Chapter 20: Frogs on Toadstools

_AN: Whoa! It has been awhile. I lost my way and my characters decided to go on a very long vacation and leave me with many bad versions of the following events... I have also been lazy. Sorry about that... Thanks for all who have reviewed, especially those who have asked me why I haven't updated- you were instrumental to getting my butt off the writer's block..._

* * *

_Chapter 20: Frogs on Toadstools_

"That is _not _Tezock," Rikash said flatly as Deryne paced around a Seal burned into the grass; thick black lines in the ground marked the nondistinct place in the middle of the yellowing, bent stalks. Her kestrel flew around in circles, but never above the runes. Deryne stared at the markings, shaking her head.

"It is also not like any Seal in Numair's books," Han responded, studying the mark with his brow furrowed as he perched on a boulder a few feet away. Cyne looked from one of her comrades to the next.

"Could it be a concealment?" Deryne shook her head grimly.

"These ruins... it is a Seal. And Seals-" She stopped moving, arms crossed. Rikash felt compelled to finish her thoughts.

"Seals, Gates, Vents- they have to do with transport. Moving, blocking, carrying something... or someone."

"So Tezock used this to go somewhere?" Cyne frowned as Deryne's hand outstretched towards the empty air above the Seal. "Don't do that- who knows where it goes? What if it's a trap and he wants you to think he went through there?" The windmage sighed.

"Tezock leaves a faint trail- very faint- gudruna are... disturbed. And this is where that ends. Besides-" She gestured, fingers spinning. "-the Seal feels the same way he does. Empty."

"And you'd risk your life on that?" Rikash demanded. She snorted.

"I've risked my life on far less before-" Before any of them could move, she reached over the Seal; her hand disappeared, and her eyes glinted. Rikash started forwards.

"You crazy-"

"See, you-" Then she yelped and her body jerked forwards, sucked into the empty air, disappearing before their eyes; Rikash caught hold of her arm as her head vanished and yanked- the young woman came tumbling back into sight and the two crashed into the ground, next to the dark markings. Not convinced of their security, he youth wrapped his arm around her waist and scrambled back several paces, eyes narrowed as the markings disappeared behind waves of dying grass. Then he seized Deryne's shoulder and whipped her around to meet his blazing gaze.

"See _what?_" he snapped. "Sorry, you vanished for a moment there- mind telling me what happened?" Deryne scowled, turning her face away. Then she sighed and stood, brushing herself off, her face going blank.

"Thanks, Ri," she said absently and, before, he could stand, she lunged forwards, into the sinisterly normal air above the Seal, disappearing before all their eyes. With a soft cry, the kestrel swept down over Rikash's head and after its mistress.

For a long moment, silence hung in the air. Cyne stared into where Deryne had vanished. Han watched Rikash, eyebrow raised. The firemage swallowed, slowly getting to his feet. He took several unsteady steps until he stood on the edge of the Seal, glaring down at it. He had dealt with these magics for far too long.

"I'm going to kill her," he said calmly. Then he took a step and vanished after her. Cyne turned to Han, spreading her hands out, to see that he was securing the mounts.

"Someone has to remember th' lil bits," he remarked as the corners of his lips curled. "What would they do, without a body to pick up after them?" As Cyne laughed, he shouldered their packs and bowed. "Ladies first." He waited for her to steel herself and enter the strange Void before he followed on after.

* * *

Merle was sharpening her knives; every time she glared up at Kol, the boy felt a jolt of alarm, even though he knew it was nonsense; if the young woman had wanted to dispatch him, she would have done it some time ago. To hide his discomfort, he chattered about whatever he could, stumbling over his words when he came to something that could betray his conversation with the Chancellor. But, inevitably-

"You haven't said much about your sister," the redhead commented idly. She jammed another blade back into its sheath, perfectly honed. "And yet, you came all this way to find her." Kol swallowed.

"I was hoping to," he said lowly, letting his eyes drop, pretending to be worried. "Bea was everything t' me after me parents were gone- she ran shop and kept me outta trouble. She got to be a maid in a merchant's house in the city."

"So why'd you'd go all the way to Tortall?" Kol struggled to think of the story closest to the truth he could tell her. "Why'd your uncle take you if she did so well?"

"She got a new position. With a noble who bought from her master." He looked off into a dark corner. "He didn't take kindly to little lads 'bout the house. And me uncle needed another pair of hands."

"How fortunate for you." She was prodding him; she wanted to know more. He shrugged off-handedly.

"I learned more with me uncle. Learned to look after meself- couldn't have done that with Bea," he said shortly. It was true; even when he was accused of treachery, somehow Bea had gotten him safely to Tortall. She shielded him every step of his life, but it hadn't seemed to have done her much good.

"And now you were back... looking in Frasluk-?"

"Plenty of nobles about- I hoped I'd see her helping the kitchens or see her master or sommat," he answered before nodding at her sleeve sheaths. "How do the knives stay while you're waving your arms about?" He figured there was a catch, which Merle showed him, but he could keep her busy with questions about weaponry until Brand returned; he was almost certain she knew what he was about, but as long as she would let him avoid the questions, he would.

Brand arrived not too much longer after that with bread and a plan. Although the whole delegation could not quit, he had caught word that several Tortallans and Kyprians were headed south on a ship in two days' time.

"If you crop your hair, Merle you can pass as a lad, and you're pale enough to pass for a northerner. Kol, you too- the hirers would think them two mates who want an adventure and will work for little. You get jobs on the ship and help me and Damek get aboard." Merle groaned.

"I don't look anything like a lad," she complained.

"Bind your chest and start walking like me," Brand retorted unsympathetically. She snorted.

"Like a daft duckling away from its mama?"

"I'm gonna ignore that-"

"-cause you know I'm right-" She yelped as he poked her in the side; Kol watched, wide-eyed, as the two bodyguards' serious personas disappeared during the short tussle that followed; it ended when they realized the boy was staring. Merle sighed, yanking out one of her knives.

"Leastwises, they're sharp-" She glared as Brand grabbed her hand and eased the blade out of it. "What do you think you're doing, Sibigat?"

"Saving your dignity and possibly your ear while I'm at it. Turn around," he ordered. SHe raised an eyebrow.

"I'm supposed to let _you _cut my hair?"

"Unless you want to look like a hedgewitch's broom on its head?" he retorted. "You can't see what you're doing, you looby- you want to bring attention to yourself? You won't be able to do any of the talking as it is, your Scanran's terrible and your Common accent will be spotted a league away-" As Merle opened her mouth to protest, Brand shook his head. "No, ma'am. Sit down, turn around, and shut those pretty pert lips of yours." Kol stared again as Merle turned bright red and then, crossing her arms, did as he said, glaring down the wall as Brand raised the knife and began working.

* * *

Gasping, Deryne fell to the ground, images of gudruna flooding into her mind- over the ocean, to an island- just as in her dream with Frejonak. _One island, _he had said. She was on that very island now.

_When the firemage comes through, tell him it was necessary, _the Chamber's voice resonated as the kestrel flew over her head and landed in a tree to preen. _How were you supposed to get anything done dithering about and complaining? _

"You tell him," she grumbled, turning to see another Seal behind her, markings almost identical to the one in Scanra. They were nowhere near Scanra now- they were on an island, an island no one knew anything about, even hardened sailors who had traversed these waters a hundred times over. An _invisible _island. A shiver ran up Deryne's spine.

The Seal glowed, light flickering across them like dying fire in charcoal, and Rikash appeared, sputtering; Deryne wondered if he had seen all he had of their journey across land and sea, or if those images had been courtesy of the _gudruna. _

"I swear, what is the first thing you learn about Gates and Seals?" he snapped, lurching towards her. "Don't touch them. Even if you _know _what they're for, which we didn't, _don't touch_, not _ever!_" He snorted, pushing his blond hair out of his face. "And what do _you _do? You _leap _on that damned thing like a frog on a toadstool-" Deryne's lips twitched as he shook his head.

"Han's sayings are rubbing off on you," she noted, trying to hide her amusement. Rikash gave her a filthy look. "Thanks for coming after me," she added mischeviously, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure as Rikash's eyes narrowed even more. "Ri, it was clearly a transport-"

"We didn't know any of the identifying markings!"

"We knew that Tezock stepped on it and he was gone," she pointed out.

"What if it had been a special gate, immortals only?" he demanded. She shrugged.

"Well, it wasn't." He snorted again.

"Not this time," he muttered. "Next time, I'm going to-" But Deryne did not find out what he was threatening, because the Seal glowed again and Cyne stumbled from the Seal.

"Han secured the horses," she managed as the earthmage appeared. He said nothing, his eyes widening as he stared around. Deryne took a moment to take in their surroundings.

Short trees and scraggly bushes with thick branches covered the sandy soil, which the ocean met with barely a splash at the shoreline. They stood on a stone path, onto which the Seal was engraved.

About a hundred or so paces from them was a wall, covered in ivy except for the steel doors that the path led up to. _Gudruna _raced around Deryne, without any command from her; she let the whispers carry her to the doors, her eyes widening with surprise as they hit a wall of more _gudruna _and swept away.

"It's protected," she said softly, wondering at the wall of _gudruna _around the visible wall. "Magically." Han closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking over at her to nod.

"I can't get past the ivy," he confessed. Deryne started walking up the path; the others followed silently behind her, stopping when she paused in front of the _gudruna. _Her eyes climbed the wall, her gaze fixed on the divide between stone and sky.

"Tezock is here," she said softly. "This- this is the island he was speaking of. This is the island from which he came."

"You can sense him now?" She shook her head. Rikash's eyes narrowed.

"Well, if you can't see _through _this-" He opened his hands, stretching them towards the doors.

"Wait," Cyne interjected. "We don't want to let them know we're here."

"I think...," Han said hesitantly, looking around. His jaw set. "I think it's a little late for that." The other three stared at him.

"What?" He frowned.

"Well, think of it- if Tezock knows us so well, why wouldn't he try to conceal himself better? There must be ways... And why leave that Seal so unprotected?"

"Maybe he was bluffing," Rikash retorted. Han's eyebrows raised.

"Then why are there no guards, protecting his return against us?" As the realization struck, they exchanged a look of alarm, and Rikash and Cyne both made a sharp, jerking motion to race back down the path, back to the Seal.

"Don't bother," Han advised. And as Deryne's _gudruna _obiligingly made the trip back for her, she knew what he did; for in the time it had taken to walk to the wall, the Seal had vanished, trapping them.

Resignation fought the rising panic in her chest, only to be beaten back as a deafening creaking broke the quiet. She whipped back around, slamming into the protective _gudruna_ accidentally; she reeled, as though she had walked into a doorway, then stumbled as the _gudruna _dispersed, leaving her free to explore the Void standing between the opened steel doors.

Tezock walked forth, beaming at them; his teeth flashed and his eyes gleamed. His happiness frightened her. Another pang of fear struck her at the sight of several others, others of his kind, standing behind him.

"Welcome," he hissed, sweeping a hand back at the temples behind him, beyond the wall. "Welcome... to Gotzan, the home of the Seraph."

* * *

_AN: Reviews are always welcomed. _


	22. Chapter 21: Unpleasantness

AN: Wow, it's been awhile... College is a busy thing... but I'm on break now, and determined to get some of this written! Thanks to everyone who has kept reading and messaged me, asking about this- sorry this takes so long, but I'll be trying to crank as much of this out as I can! I know it's also tricky to keep up with a story when the writer hasn't posted in awhile and how on earth are you supposed to remember the plot and characters? So I will endeavor to keep this up better, at least until I had to go back to college things. Thanks to all reviewers, SarahE7191, Dragonfly257, renagirl9, funny-fic9090, angry reader, Eternityfalls, ALK, Aria657, and A Well Wisher. And thanks to my beta as usual- you are amazing! =D

* * *

_Chapter 21_

_Unpleasantness_

"The Gods enjoy torturing us poor mortals," Myles sighed, placing the scroll he had been looking at for over two days aside. "The maps are very old, but would be useful, I believe, if I could read the inscriptions which go along with them." Cadel glanced up, eyebrow raised.

"You said you could read some of it- how can some of it be decipherable and the rest impossible?" he queried. Myles shook his head.

"That's just the thing- I have been translating old texts using keys- lists of translations from one obscure language to another. One out of every four symbols is in the key of the southern dialect of one of the nameless, forgotten tongues, which are translated into Old Carthaki, which can then be translated into Carthaki and then Common. This, here-" He tapped one of the symbols; Leo came around to his side to look at it, then scanned the rest of the parchment. "-is the Quaternion- which makes me believe this could be invaluable, if it could be read." The Quaternion was the name Myles had given to the single sign composed of the four symbols of Air, Fire, Water, and Earth. The sign had come up several times; it was the symbol of the Guild. "The rest-" He shook his head. "I have consulted every key I have and every sample of inscriptions whose keys have been lost centuries ago. They are formed in the same way as the southern dialect- the same sorts of shapes- but these symbols do not exist." He sighed. "We will just have to look elsewhere for word of an island no man has seen." He handed the scroll to Leo. "Put this down somewhere- anywhere, really; we have no further use for it."

* * *

"You do all the talking," Merle murmured as she and Kol wandered up one of the docks. She leapt to the side as a man with a barrel on his shoulder strode past them, nearly knocking her off the platform. "I'll stay here." Kol nodded, giving her a sidelong glance; she passed for a lad, if a bit of a pretty one- her porcelain skin and delicate fingers didn't bode well for getting work on a ship. It was only on closer inspection that one saw she was wiry, not scrawny, and her hands were covered in calluses. However, if a captain was close enough to notice that, he might notice other details which might lead to questions they would prefer to avoid. Girl shiphands were not unheard of, but boys were preferred... and there were dangerous positions of which a girl had best be wary. Kol cleared his throat, then made a quick jog to the captain's mate, who was swearing at a few hands.

"Faster, will y'geta that load off- Yew! Getcha thieving hands off'n the merchandise!" he snapped, brushing his hair back as his one beady eye fixed on Kol, who raised both hands high to show they were not wandering over any valuables. The mate's other eye was staring off into the distance, twitching every few moments; Kol could tell from the yellow crust around it that it was succumbing to pestilence.

"Please, sir, I'm a'looking for passage- me and me mates will work as hands- I done it afore-" The man snorted.

"Yew and the rest of the city brats- what makes yew and yer crew any better than the rest?" Kol swallowed, thinking fast.

"I'm the youngest of us," he said. "We all done hard work before-"

"Yewd have to have done hard work afore to live this long up here in the damned cold." He glowered. "Go on with yew!" Kol's back straightened; he met the man's stare.

"Me uncle works in Tortall. He'd be right obliged to-"

"Yew think we care about that? We don't need nuttin, we're jewel merchants-"

"He's a physician," he retorted, pointing at the man's sick eye. "If you take me and me friends, he'll treat that eye. If nobody does, you'll be half blind in a few months. I seen that afore with seamen- and a mate with one eye is not as good as one with two." The man glared at him for a moment. "I swear on my life- Black God take me if I lie." The words rang true, but Kol felt a shiver run up his back; swearing on the Black God's name was no small oath. He waited for another minute while the mate looked him over.

"Well," he said slowly. "Getcher lads here on the morrow. We set sail with the sunrise." Kol nodded and slipped past the loading hands before the mate could change his mind and call him back. He glanced around; Merle was not were he had left her.

Frowning, he took a step forward before hissing in pain; the talisman around his neck, the one the nobleman had given him, burned into his skin. Swearing, he ducked behind a pile of fishing nets and yanked it out from underneath his tunic.

"_Where are you going?_" a voice snarled quietly from it. Kol got a good look at the currently-glowing medallion for the first time since he had received it; there was a single symbol carved into it which he did not recognize.

"Tortall, with the Kyprian princess's guards," he gasped, glancing around frantically, praying Merle was nowhere nearby. When he turned his gaze back to the medallion in his hands, it was no longer glowing and the heat was gone. Making the Sign against his chest, he stuck it back underneath his shirt, a rotten, guilty feeling plaguing his stomach.

It wasn't his fault. He needed to keep his sister safe. And he wasn't even doing anything to hurt anyone. Yet.

* * *

Orbea twisted her fingers, hardly daring to raise her eyes from her lap, lest she somehow catch the eyes of the Chancellor, who was pacing around the room.

"I am leaving for a few days," he told her; her head stayed bowed even though her heart leaped. A handful of days of respite of the fear that he would summon her would be glorious. "Some business I must take care of." She shivered as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "In the meantime, you are to keep a close eye on His Majesty; urge him to wait for my counsel. I would not want to return to find him making niceties with the others." He paused. "That would make me... most displeased. I could find your brother in an instant, should I wish." Orbea swallowed, fighting down her panic. "Keep him... occupied. Tell him it is good to let the others stew in worry for a little before striking." He chuckled. "Are you curious, my lady? You should ask me questions; I am in a good enough mood to answer them." Did she dare?

"Where are you going?" her voice quavered.

"I never thought you would miss me," he whispered, amusement in his voice. "Rest assured, our parting will be short; I must take care of negotiations with the Gotzane. I believe they are... misguided, in their attitudes towards some of my enemies. But it will only take a few words to straight them out, and then I will be returning."

* * *

Harailt decided he was tired of the Chancellor's fondness for dramatics. Wondering how long the king's puppeteer would drag this next speech out, he fixed his eyes on the man standing high above them, gazing over the delegations.

"There have been reports of spies following my ally." Harailt's stomach dropped. "Curiosity, while understandable, is a direct affront to Scanra's attempt to build trust."

"You have not even stated your terms!" a noble from the Carthaki delegation interrupted; he took a step forward, eyes glittering. His heavy voice carried to the far ends of the room. "Who could blame anyone for trying to learn more? Trust requires openness, Chancellor, something you have yet to show!" Harailt heard several intakes of breath as Heolstor's cold gaze fell on the man.

"Terms would require threats and demands, sir. His Majesty has stated his purpose- to unite the lands and guide them into a time of peace and prosperity."

"And what of _your _purpose?" The Carthaki's voice rose. The Chancellor's eyebrows rose. When he continued, he ignored the implication that he served his own agenda, rather than his king's.

"His Majesty has not yet outlined his plans, because of the duplicity which seems to pervade this conference; he suspects someone is attempting to sabotage these peaceful overtures." Although his face betrayed nothing, Harailt felt a rush of indignant skepticism.

How were the "demonstrations" from Scanra's ally at all peaceful? They were threats piled on top of threats; all they were waiting for now was the ultimatum.

Tortall was in the most danger; they had always been Scanra's most immediate enemy, directly south of the warring states. Even if another nation posed a challenge, Tortall would most likely be trampled in the crossfire. Harailt would have advised immediate preparations for war, if he had not feared provoking trouble.

"Since this is the second time such unpleasantness has occurred, His Majesty has decided to postpone negotiations until we can get to the bottom of this." He nodded deeply. "Rest assured- we will put all resources towards finding the culprits... and our retribution shall be swift."

* * *

_The Children of the Old Ones. They shall destroy the world._ Leo fingered with the ragged edge of the torn parchment as he gazed down on Myles' scribble. _Opposites. Light and dark, but neither good nor evil. They are not whole, nor do they want for anything but death._ While they might have been in Common, Irnai's ramblings were more unintelligible than old Cyritac. Rising, he slipped in between stacks of books and scrolls covered in runes and maps, nearly catching his foot on the leg of the candelabra lighting the room.

He passed Vanora, who was asleep in the chair she had plopped down in several hours before; the large tome she had taken with her was still open in her lap and less than half-read. He took a moment to slid the large book out of its precarious position in her hands and placed it on the table next to her. A smile lingered on his lips as he saw how her perfect curls were falling over her face. She was not one to have a hair out of place, even when riding or shooting. He reached out, intending to brush them behind her ear, when she stirred and he yanked his hand back. Turning his back on her, he composed his impassive expression as he stared at an upside-down list of symbols. After a moment, he glanced back; out of the corner of his eye, he could tell she was still fast asleep. He looked down again, smiling, then paused, leaning over the list of symbols Cadel had been pouring over before he had left.

One was the Quaternion. However, even upside-down, it seemed somehow familiar... Brow furrowed, Leo angled his head slightly so he could see the symbol on its side; his eyes widened.

He had seen that- it had been in that scroll with maps that Myles had declared inscrutable... The symbols had been rotated, each in a different way! No wonder Myles had said all the symbols looked familiar, but were not in his translation keys! The prince whipped around, elated, then scowled at the dozens of piles lying on the floor around them.

There was only question... where had he put it?


End file.
